The Ballad Of The Gunslinger And The Cat
by TheVulpineHero1
Summary: Yuffie's running from...well, just about everybody. But there are some things in life you just can't run from. And Vincent Valentine is one of them. Gradual Yuffentine. Rated mainly for language.
1. Prologue: It all started with zombies

A/N: Just a very brief warning. You see that big, shiny 'T' rating up there? Well, this time, I _earned_ it. Nothing worse than a little language, though.

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Prologue: It all started with zombies..._

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It started, as all great stories start, with a blazing argument that got out of hand. Well, not _a_ blazing argument, but three of them, all contained in that delicious package of time that we call a week. You can steal a lot of things in a week. Hell, you can even steal a heart if you're good enough. Well, I can. Maybe. Yup, a week is pretty damn yummy.

Back on topic, it really was a gold record in the 'Godo can't get on with his gawd damn daughter' category. I almost thought I'd killed the old bastard when he ran out of breath and started panting like a sausage dog. I didn't mind, but that meant that my mom would probably be pissed at me when zombies rule the earth.

It _will_ happen. And don't let anybody tell you otherwise.

Anyway, it wasn't even a _good_ argument, just a blazing one. We were past all our epic, future changing, Yuffie-get-the-hell-out-of-my-house-and-rob-some-innocent-travellers arguments. Now we were arguing over stupid little things. Like how I drank out of the milk carton, or how he left the toilet seat up.

Oh. And childbirth.

Yes. To cut a long, long story extremely short, my dear old daddy wanted to know when I was going to open my freaking legs and shoot out a little baby boy to take over the Kisaragi name. I had several well-pondered arguments against that, most of which revolved around "If you want a freaking boy, grow a goddamn VAGINA and make one yourself!"

Unfortunately, Godo, for all his great wushu mastery, just didn't have skills mad enough to comply with my brilliant suggestion. In fact, he was usually so surprised at my awesome lingual skills that he sat down, still panting like a randy dachshund, in complete awe.

By the way, Cid, if your stupid cigarettes haven't turned you into a wad of cancer with legs yet, I just want to say one thing. I freaking LOVE you, you stupid, sweaty, lecherous, pig-ignorant chunk of fly-boy jockstrap. In fact, if you weren't a gazillion times my age and I wasn't so damn sure that Shera owns a whip, I would storm in there and elope with you so I could learn more of your awesome swearing arts.

Of course, things couldn't have continued like that, because that would be boring. And it'd probably have been the death of my dad. It all came to a head in the middle of the third argument.

"Yuffie. Last night, I told you never to darken my door again." he wheezed. Wheezing isn't very intimidating. "You have your own house. Why are you here?"

"Well", I said, affecting his copyright wheeze because I knew it would piss him off, "Firstly, I didn't come in through the door."

Godo looked at me with his killer death stare. Yawn. I've sat through Cloud's, Reeve's and even Sephiroth's killer death stares without developing a) a conscience or b) killer death. My dad's is no biggie.

At this point, I should probably mention that I was wearing all black. And that it was one in the morning. And we were in the family shrine. And he'd walked in on me putting his wallet into my back pocket.

"So...What exactly are you doing here, honoured daughter?" He put venom into the last two words. Even though he's a stupid smelly worn-out geezer, it still hurt. Stupid traditional Wutain values. Dad always could manage an emotional low-blow.

"Stealin' stuff. What does it look like, old man?"

Y'ever here of 'honour among thieves'? Basically, you don't steal from your own. Otherwise you get whomped on. Honour among ninja is like that, but kinda worse because ninja will torture you too. In other words, I was officially in trouble. And Godo was about to blow.

There's an old saying in Wutai. It's been an old saying ever since I made it up and started spreading it when I was six. 'A good ninja thinks fast. A great ninja doesn't think.' And I was awesome at not thinking. So, without thinking, I reached out at lightning speed. Still not thinking, I looked at his astonished face, winced, grabbed hold of his arm to use as a pivot, and judo-flipped my infirm father before he raised the alarm.

In retrospect, that was probably a bad thing to do. Firstly I could have killed him, but we'll skip that point for a more important one: I could have gotten away with it if I hadn't flipped the old man like a fillet of fish and stealthed out of there like an epic living shadow. Technically, I could have just resumed my position as leader of the Kisaragi clan, and everything in the house, including the five thousand or so of Dad's gil I had in my pocket, would have belonged to me. So it wouldn't have been stealing.

But, once again, I didn't do that, because that would also have been boring. It would have also meant I had to start taking responsibility, and I still believe the epiphany I had when I was three years old: responsibility is icky.

So, following the most time honoured tradition of ninjahood, I cheesed it. The tacky, tourist style decorations of my father's home rushed by as I darted from shadow to shadow. I rushed past the fountain, the guest room, the front doors. I rushed past the pagoda and the great gong that I used to run up and kick when Dad was standing in front of it. And all the way, my dad's tortured breathing rang in my ears.

Unfortunately, as I was following that time honoured tradition, I lost my ninja greatness and thought. And realised that now I was in BIG trouble. Dad would immediately raise the alarm and say that his daughter had attacked him, dishonouring herself by raising a hand to her parent. Which meant that now, everyone was going to be very, very angry at me. And that meant that I couldn't take my position as Big Boss of all Wutai back from Dad. Which meant I was stealing from the Big Boss. And had just made an attempt on the Big Boss's life. Which, regardless of who I was or what the Big Boss said, was gonna have everyone in Wutai out for my blood. Stupid traditional Wutaian values.

And, oh. Did I say BIG trouble? I meant huge, gigantic, super-massive trouble.

The moon was glaring at me like Leviathan's great serpent eye when I made it out of the pagoda square and into the village proper. It wasn't even a village any more, I guess. Dad's tourist crap had been bringing in so much money now that the planet was no longer a dangerous place and travel was becoming more popular. As I picked my way through the shadows like like a secret agent on speed, I realised that no one was following me. No one was awake, and no footsteps echoed down Wutai's dusty alleys. The streets, so long and cluttered now that Wutai was growing, were empty. Too empty. Suspicion soured in my gut like Cloud's lousy cooking. Once again, I tapped into ninja greatness, and shot up the nearest wall, my legs working like a tap-dancing spider. On the roof of the house, my instincts were confirmed.

"_If the enemy leaves a door open, you must rush in."_

I'd left the door of my house open. And they had rushed into it.

All of Wutai was standing outside my house. MY house. Some had gone in. There weren't enough traps to take care of them all. And I couldn't just storm in there and take them all out. I mean, my dad, sure, but the people of Wutai? The reasons that I had ever joined Cloud and company to whup Sephiroth's butt?

Although, to a casual observer, there was no reason why I should be stressing out about them laying siege to my house. After all, I wasn't in it at the time. What where they going to do, raid my goddamn fridge?

Well, to the 'casual observer', shut the hell up. When I went to my dad's house to jack some pocket money and stir up the old coot's asthma, I wasn't expecting to be hunted by my whole home town. And I'd left my weapons and armour at home- all of them. Along with my materia. My precious materia.

"_If equally matched, we can offer battle;_

_if slightly inferior in numbers, we can avoid the enemy;_

_if quite unequal in every way, we can flee from him."_

I had no weapons; they had mine. I had no materia; they had mine. I had no allies; they had mine. In short, I was quite unequal in every way. So, I neglected to stop off at home for supplies and weapons; I merely carried on following that greatest of ninja traditions. And cheesed it the hell out of Wutai.

No one followed. No one cared. I was just a shadow, running into the darkness, and they were embroiled in their righteous anger. I ran straight out of the front gates, and no one stopped me.

I didn't stop running until I had reached the mountains. The people of Wutai are famously territorial; most of them are scared of the world outside. Wutai had all they needed. Wutai had all that _I_ needed. I felt the cold night air on my all-black clothing- which was made of thin material to keep down body shape and movement noise, with no consideration for keeping you from freezing your ass off. All I could think was that I had finally screwed up big enough to ruin my life. Dad, I could live without. Wutai, I couldn't. I was cold, I didn't have any food or water, and in an area populated with monsters that I couldn't beat because I didn't have my weapons.

But thinking about it wasn't going to help, I reasoned, in my great ninja way. Besides, I had five thousand gil. That was a start. I almost smiled to myself. But then I looked down into the village below.

Green lights were glowing near my house. The bastards found my materia. I shivered and groaned as I saw them trying it out. Playing with the treasures that I had risked my life to collect, and unwittingly gambled away for five thousand gil and an argument with Godo. But there was worse to come.

As I watched, a larger green light flashed. And then fire blazed. _My house._ I saw the magical flames lick at it, like Red XIII would lick at a bone, just before he tossed it into the air and devoured it. They flickered, and fell. The green light came again, and it repeated. The smells of scorching cloth and pine chased each other up the mountain and into my nostrils. I could picture my stuff singeing, warping in the heat. The doll I'd had since I was three, tucked away from the world behind a loose ceiling panel I'd knocked out in training. My first shuriken that I'd stolen from Shake at the age of five. The last paper swan that my mom had ever made me. It was all going up in flames, like so many monsters that I'd razed with that very materia.

And then someone got the smart-ass idea to cast Fire 3.

Needless to say, my house pretty much exploded. That stuff pretty much owned Reno and Rude single-handedly; my poor old pad had no chance at all. Feeling sickened, I turned and walked away.

And that was how I, Yuffie Kisaragi, the White Rose Of Wutai, was kicked _out_ of Wutai. Well, it's the short version at least. As I trudged away across the mountains that led to nowhere but the sea, I wondered how in the name of Leviathan I was going to get out of this one. But, as I walked, I had one comforting thought.

Life's a bitch. Well, two can play at that game.

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Chapter End_

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A/N: Well, I'm still not completely satisfied with my editing, but needs must; I really couldn't wait to post this because it was so much fun to write, and the sooner this is up the sooner I'll feel justified in writing another chapter. This is a prologue, so it's supposed to be short and sweet. I deliberately kept description down for plot reasons. So, please take five seconds out of your day to tell me what you think.

By the way, the quotations are from Sun Tzu's Book of War, which every aspiring megalomaniac should read at least once and which I keep under my pillow every night. As for the actual title of this story, well, who knows? Maybe it'll mean something.


	2. Mountains, Mandragoras and Captain Emo

_Chapter One: Mountains, Mandragoras and Captain Emo

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There's an old saying in Wutai, which I didn't _actually_ make up. It says that 'If you stand firm in ignorance, Fate itself will conspire to teach you a lesson.' The lesson is that mountains suck. Although, I'm not sure Fate deserves all the credit. I think Cloud and company had a hand in it.

I mean, let's face it. I used to like the Da Choa mountain...Before I was kidnapped, gagged, and tied upside down to it over five billion feet in the air by a blonde perverted dwarf. I also thought that Mt. Nibel looked pretty...before Cloud wanted to go and check on the old reactor when Sephiroth went wacko, because _obviously_ that wouldn't be totally creeptacular. And don't even get me started on Gaea Cliff. It's not even a _real_ mountain, and it still sucked royally because it was goddamn minus fifty degrees and I was wearing freakin' short shorts.

It wouldn't have been so bad if Tifa had let me skin Red and use him as a fur coat like I wanted.

Still, comparatively, the mountains in the Wutai area were pretty tame. There were no mako reactors, they weren't too high...Plus my ass wouldn't fall off and shatter into a thousand undeniably sexy pieces because of frostbite. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that I was pretty much defenceless, it would've been a nice relaxing hike. No problem for a master ninja of my awesomeness.

It was a huge problem.

Firstly, because it was Spring in the Wutai region. Now, for all you guys who don't know, Springtime is when the evil, bloodthirsty monsters in the Wutai region start getting frisky with each other.

Yeah.

You don't know the _meaning_ of the word 'oopsie' until you step on a pair of Mandragora that were just starting to get it on.

Secondly, when monsters aren't making babies with each other, they're out hunting for munchies to give their new mate. And if I don't look completely delicious, then Tifa's an A cup. Especially with no armour, weapons or materia.

With both of those problems, it's hard for even an awesome master ninja to stay out of trouble for long. I managed nine hours.

I'd been on the go all day after fleeing Wutai in the 'wee hours of the morning', as Cait Sith would have said. Come to think of it, Cait Sith was...weird. If Reeve was controlling him the whole time, why didn't he sound anything like Reeve? And what was the deal with Reeve still using that thing? I think he has a doll fetish, or something.

Just a heads-up for all you creepy, possessed dolls out there. Y'hear that, Chucky? Reeve's coming for ya with a bottle of baby oil. And he means business.

Anyway, back on topic. I was pretty much KO'd from exhaustion, I hadn't had breakfast, I hadn't had water, and I hate to provide you with too much information here but I was pretty desperate to visit the ladies' room. All this provides a wonderful excuse for me to explain my carelessness, and damn if I'm not taking it.

It was my natural curiosity that did it. As I was expertly navigating one of the more narrow ledges I needed to pass to get to the sea, I looked down. Now, Great Ninja Yuffie is not afraid of heights. In fact, they don't even bother me. Unless I'm tied upside down to a mountain. Or unless I'm on an airship.

By the way. If you were ever just walkin' along, minding your own business, and then a shower of vomit fell out of the sky and hit you, it was me. Or, rather, my breakfast. Sorry about that.

Anyway. I looked down, and I saw something weird in an alcove below. Firstly, it was wriggling. And secondly, it was the most demonic shade of pink I have ever seen. It reminded me of something, but I couldn't figure out what. So, being the brave ninja that I am, I just peeked out over the edge a little more, to get a better look.

Y'know, considering that mountains are so big and all, you really expect them to be a little more freaking sturdy. I mean, who built the damn things? If I ever find out, I'm suing for shoddy workmanship. No win, no fee, bitch.

It's shameful to admit it, but I really didn't realise what was happening at first. One moment I was scoping out some weird wriggly pink stuff, and the next I was gracefully sliding down the mountain with a shower of rocks in swift pursuit.

In the end, I hit the alcove I had been looking at all along. So, Yuffie one, mountain nil. Then the rocks caught up with me. That brought it to a draw. In fact, it was advantage mountain. The rocks had landed in a perfectly choreographed pile, at the centre of which was my leg.

And then I realised what the pink stuff was.

Tail Vaults are ridiculous little things. They're lizards, except they have weird sail things on their backs. And they're pink. Neon pink. Except for their sail thingies, which are neon turquoise. They like to attack by jumping at you, grabbing onto your chest and then biting your face with razor sharp fangs. (The attack doesn't work on Tifa because she has airbags that deflect them.)

And there I was, with my leg stuck in some rocks, on the same ledge as a whole nest of them. (Tail Vaults, not Tifa's breasts. Perverts.)

Now, normally, Tail Vaults are nothing to be afraid of. Especially not dinky little baby ones like the ones I'd got. But, your perspective changes when you've trapped, and you don't have a whirling shuriken of stabby death to back you up.

And then, with all the horrible deliberateness of an actor in a two-bit horror movie, one of them looked at me.

"_On desperate ground, I would proclaim to my soldiers the hopelessness of saving their lives."_

Great ninja don't think. But thoughts are the greatest ninja of all, sneaking past all of your defences and into your head. And at that moment, I honestly thought that this was it. I was going to be picked off by Tail Vaults, and baby ones at that. I was going to die, cark it, buy the ranch.

I heard from Barret once that, just before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. As some of the baby Tail Vaults detached themselves from the group and started running towards me, I found myself wanting popcorn. But popcorn would have distracted my hands from my desperate (and futile) effort to pull my leg free. I could feel sweat pouring down the back of my legs, down my back, my neck- it must be what it feels like to be Cid. I was screaming curses and insults at the little buggers just like he would have done too.

But, in the end, I didn't see my life flash before my eyes. I heard a sound. Now, as you can probably guess, it was a pretty awesome sound. It had to sum up me, my life and all my awesomeness up in a single moment of sonic bliss. And do you know what sound I heard, as I sat there cursing, about to die, with baby Tail Vaults closing in on me?

"Wark!"

What. The. Frick. That's pretty much the crappiest death sound ever. I would have been embarrassed to die with that as my last earthly memory.

The next sounds I heard- I must've closed my eyes somewhere along the way, but I don't remember when- were much more awesome. And reassuring.

Chck-chck. BOOM.

As soon as the sound reached my ears I felt a faint spray of something sticky hit my face. Some landed on my lips, and it had a definite coppery tang. It wasn't the first time I'd accidentally tasted monster blood. I heard the deafening screech of the other Tail Vaults, but it didn't last long. Chck-chck-boom, chck-chck-boom. It repeated twice, and then all was still. Then, a familiar grunt, and the sound of rock shifting.

I opened my eyes to find my leg free...And my face less than seven inches from that of Vincent Valentine's. I blinked. He blinked. I freaked.

I should probably explain that Vincent is not the worst thing in the world to open your eyes to. He's kinda pale, yeah, and fragile, but he's not bad. I can't stress how much gil I'd give to have his cheekbones. I swear, one day that guy is going to stop moping around and get himself laid, and then it'll give rise to a whole bunch of his undead spawn.

Do you remember when I told you zombies were going to take over the world?

To be honest, I'd never been more happy to see McCape'n'claw in all my life. My first instinct was to give him a big fat hug, but then I noticed that he had a shotgun. Triple barrelled, black and shiny. Yummy. He was still our pet gun-toting nutcase, then.

All through this, he just stood there, seven inches from my face, looking at me like I was an (incredibly sexy, might I say) ghost.

"Yuffie. What are you doing here...?" he asked. Gawd, his voice is like dark chocolate and horse-chestnuts mixed together. All smooth but rough at the same time. I wonder if cough sweets are poisonous to him.

"Well, I was busy being attacked until you came along." I retorted. Looking around, I saw a pile of dead Tail Vaults with their insides on the outside. Eww. I also saw a chocobo, which explained my 'wark' swan song. (It was black, of course. With Captain Emo in the saddle, how could it NOT be?)

"I'm sorry to have interrupted." he said, not getting the joke. Vincent never got the joke.

"So, uh...How did you find me?" I asked, pawing the ground with my foot. Vincent's okay, but Stalker Vince? Not so much.

"You were swearing. Quite loudly." he said, looking away.

Cid? I've just decided that I don't care if Shera has a whip. Your awesome lingual skills saved my ass, and next time I see you, we're going drinkin'.

"Ehehe. Well, I try my best. Anyway, Vinnie," I said, noting the eyebrow twitch when I used his least favourite nickname ever, "Why are you in the Wutai area?"

"I was on my way to Wutai."

Y'know, for a kickass gunman and a former Turk, Vinnie's REALLY dumb sometimes.

"Really. And why were you on your way to Wutai? Were you going to drop in on me for tea dna ninja crumpets?" I asked with mock suspicion.

"Yuffie, I would never dream of putting anything you had cooked into my mouth." he grimaced. Actually, was he grimacing, or smiling? Hard to tell sometimes.

"Vincent, did you just...like...make a joke?"

"Hn."

Really freaking helpful, Vinnie is.

"I was on my way to investigate. For Reeve." he elaborated, after I faked being angry.

He was still in the WRO, huh? That actually took me aback. I'd quit because I didn't particularly do well with the whole 'following orders' junk. I'd expected that Vinnie would have quit because of his people problems.

"Well, Wutai itself is fine." I lied. Actually, I didn't know. How were my people ever going to cope without their awesome White Rose to keep them on track? Stupid thoughts.

"We're looking at the monster populations around here...There's something amiss." he said, clamming up. Stupid professional Vince. Stupid monsters. Stupid mountain.

"What, that they're randy? It's mating season. You sure you're not looking for a bit on the side for Galian Beast?" I teased.

If it were Cloud, or Cid, he would have just spluttered and denied it. However, Cloud and Cid both have senses of humour- maybe people with names beginning with C are born with them. Vincent, however, doesn't, and decided that he wanted to hop on his goddamn emo-bird and ride up the mountain.

"Wait-wait-WAIT! Vinnie, I need help." I said, grabbing his arm as he mounted the birdie. His eyebrow twitched.

"Yuffie, you've never wanted or needed help." he said, with some sort of weird rasp in his voice. I was too busy trying to swallow my pride at the time to notice.

"I don't have any weapons. Or armour. Or materia." I said. He looked at me as if I was insane. "Anyway, I need you to take me to get some...But not at Wutai. Anywhere but Wutai."

More looking at me as if I was insane.

"Look, uh...I'm kind of having an argument with Godo. So, I can't go to Wutai right now." I said. It wasn't actually a full-on lie. That's the trick to being a successful liar: base your lies on the truth.

"And what would I get in return?" he asked. "This may be a ploy to steal MY things, you know."

Well, I was outraged. How could Mr Idiotic, Metal-Clown-Shoes Goth-Wannabe ever suspect ME of trying to steal his-

Oh, wait. Yeah.

"But Vinnie. I wouldn't steal from you. You're my bestest buddy!" I said, moving closer to him. I noticed him trying to shift subtly away.

"I'm not disrupting my mission for free, you know." he said, looking at me with distaste. Oh, really, Vince. Take the moral high ground whilst basically asking to be bribed. Only you could do something that weird.

"Fine, fine. I'll help you with your monster thingy." I huffed. "Now will you help me?"

To my surprise, he slowly nodded. I was going to be riding on an emo-bo with Captain Cape.

Score.

Riding a chocobo is weird, even more so if you're a backseat driver like me. For one, it's bumpy as hell. I swear to gawd, those things will just randomly jump for no reason, just to make things a little less comfortable. For two, it's really fun, and it shouldn't be. It should _not_ be fun to ride along with your bones rattling and a giant idiotic bird between your legs. But it is.

Vincent didn't seem to mind this at all. He seemed absolutely mortified when I wrapped my arms around his chest to stop myself from falling off and breaking my neck, but he didn't react when his stupid birdie decided to stop for a bathroom break. Weirdo.

I guess it could be that I always associate chocobos with the time I was travelling with Vince and everyone to beat Sephiroth. They bring back amusing, and weird, memories.

For example, did you know that if you put five mastered chocobo lures into a weapon, it becomes a potent aphrodisiac for the feathery little things? I still remember Cloud running around with two of them at his tail. Or was it only one chocobo? I don't know. Cloud kinda looks like one, so I get confused.

I also remember the time when Red wanted to try riding one. It didn't go well. The flappy little buzzards get spooked when he's around, so he had to sneak up behind it. It was hilarious, like a cat chasing a pigeon, except bigger. In the end, he got choco-kicked in the jaw and spent the rest of the day regarding it as some philosophical revelation. Good times.

As I was looking back on happy memories, I felt sleep stealing into my skull. Sleep, like thoughts, is also an awesome ninja. Hey- being terrified is pretty exhausting. As I bear-hugged Vincent Valentine and used his ratty old mantle for an oddly comfortable pillow, all seemed alright with the world, even though I had judo-flipped my dad, seen my house burn and almost been killed and eaten. I drifted into a peaceful sleep...

Yeah, _right_.

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_Chapter End

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**A/N**: Well, here we are, at the tail end of a second chapter. Thanks for the people who reviewed- I didn't expect such a positive response!

By the way, you may have noticed the use of 'cark it' within this chapter. That's my tribute to another (better) piece of Yuffentine fanfiction, Springtime In Winter.

This chapter wasn't quite so sweary (Yuffie didn't really have much to swear _at_), but I felt that the acerbic tone of voice worked quite well. I'm going to try and update again soon, so be on the lookout.

**EDIT: I accidentally replaced this chapter with Chapter 2 for a while. My bad. I'll send out apologies.**


	3. I Hate Vincent Valentine

Chapter Two: I hate Vincent Valentine

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I woke up and was immediately warm and comfortable. And restrained. Feeling the tightness on my limbs that brought back all those bad memories of Don Corneo and his perverted little tricks, I started to struggled. To my surprise, the restraints came away almost without trying.

Then I looked around, and found to my great surprise that my 'restraints' were long, red, and full of holes.

Then I remembered. Vinnie. Crap. I'd gotten a ride with him, but then what? When exactly had I stolen his cape to use as a Yuffie-sized hamster bed? And where the hell was I, anyway?

Then I heard the cursed, blessed, haunting sound of an flush toilet. We were indoors. I sighed in relief. No more mountains. That still left an awful lot of questions- why was I indoors, why was I wrapped in Vinnie's cloak, and why hadn't I worked out I was indoors when I saw the ceiling? Mentally kicking myself for the last one (and believe me, my mental kicks are so awesome that I wish I hadn't), I waited for whoever it was to get out of the bathroom.

It was, of course, Tall-Dark-and-Undead. He looked like he'd slept well; his skin was paler and more luminescent than normal. Also, his cloak looked creased.

Wait, cloak?

He must've saw me staring, because he answered me as if I had asked a question. "It's my traveller's cloak. It's somewhat shorter, but has the benefit of a hood." He pointed to the red rag I was sitting on.

Gawd, just like Vince to give me a critical evaluation of the damn thing.

"Thanks, Vince. It's...nice." I said. Nice wasn't really the word, considering it was composed of more parts air than fabric, but anyway.

"You are welcome. I dislike the thing, anyway." he said, stalking (he always stalks, never walks) to a window. I felt my eyebrow twitching. Wow, great going, Vinnie. Way to make a girl feel special. 'Yuffie, I am giving you a present.' 'Really?' 'Yes, but even I think it's crap.'

"Uh...Why?" I asked, a little annoyed in all honesty. All my wit had deserted me.

Shuddup. I'm not a morning person. No self respecting ninja is a morning person. Why do you think we sneak around at night?

He paused for a second, with his hands on the window frame. You know when Vincent is thinking because he forgets to breathe. Further proof that men, no matter how scientifically enhanced they may be, cannot multi-task.

"...They just don't make them how they used to." he answered, thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, workmanship was better when you bought it, five hundred years ago." I muttered.

For a moment, the conversation dried up. Whisked away into thin air like Leviathan's torrents when his attacks were done. (Probably a good thing. Considering how much I used to use the damn thing, the whole world would be underwater by now. Yuffie one, global warming zero.)

I hate silence. It reminds me of how it was when my mother died. No one spoke to me for a week, because they were afraid they would upset me. I would talk to myself, babble endlessly just to break the stillness of the air. I would throw shuriken just to hear the soft, reverberating thud they made when they hit the target. I would run for miles just to hear my feet slap against the ground.

It was the first time that I realised that Dad couldn't fix everything for me.

I still had that distaste for silence when it wasn't necessary. So, I broke it.

"So, Vincent. You're still anatomically correct enough to use the bathroom?" I asked awkwardly. Not a morning person, remember?

"...No, Yuffie. I am, like a cat, merely transfixed by running water." he said, with the same strange rasp in his voice as when he had told me I didn't need help yesterday.

It would take me a while to work out that it was his way of laughing. At the time, I just gave him the most incredulous look I could muster.

"I shall go and procure breakfast. We will talk more then." he said abruptly, sweeping from the room with a full entourage of dust bunnies in tow. Whether it was the room or the cape, I can't say.

True to his word, Vinnie did procure breakfast. I can't remember what it was, only that it tasted like it had been predigested by his chocobo. I treated it in the same way as I used to treat Cloud's crappy cooking- don't look, don't chew, just swallow. Because of that, I finished way before Vince, who eats like a freaking cow. Just grazes for hours on end without actually getting anywhere.

I shouldn't really mock him for it, though. The fact that he does eat suggests against the rumours that he's a 'creature of the night'.

Vinnie is more depressing than a vampire anyway.

Eventually, after I'd died of old age, been reincarnated and made my way back to where I was, Vinnie finished eating.

"So, Vince. Where the hell are we?" I asked.

"Wutai Port, Yuffie."

The words hit me like a slap in the face. "Wait, what? Wutai has a PORT now?"

"...How did you think all those tourists you enjoy complaining about arrive?" Vincent muttered just loud enough for me to hear. I gave him a Yuffie-style killer death stare. Unfortunately, as Vincent _is_ killer death, all it did was make him raise his eyebrow.

Deciding that Vincent's eyebrow-cocking shenanigans were probably best ignored, I set my mind to contemplating my situation.

Wutai Port. Godo was responsible for it. It was the only other settlement on the island. Therefore, Godo was gonna have people looking out for me. Crap.

There would be no decent weapons or armour here, either- just the mass produced replicas for tourists. They might open a nasty gash in your six year old cousin's forearm, but that was all. Double crap.

We were near the sea. It was cold near the sea. My ninja suit (which weirdly Vinnie hadn't commented on) would NOT protect me from the elements. And with people looking out for me, I couldn't exactly go to the boutique. It's official: it was craptacular.

So, I needed a disguise- one that would protect me from the elements. And I couldn't go out and get it, which left...

"Vinnie", I said in my very sweetest voice. "I need new clothes."

Gawd, he looked like I'd whipped a gun from my knickers and shot him. I've never seen anyone look quite so horrified.

I've changed my mind. The zombie invasion is off. With an attitude like that, Vinnie's _never_ gonna get laid.

"...Do you not already have clothes?" he asked, pointing one long, metallic finger at me accusingly.

"Yes, Vinnie, I do. Great deduction. I think you would notice if I was sitting here butt-naked. And with those tight leather trousers, I think I'd notice too." I scorned. He had the good grace to look awkward.

"Why, then, do you need more clothes?" he asked.

At this point, I got up. Not because I was angry, but because I was starting to worry about how often Vinnie washed his cloak. Gawd, hygiene. Do you have it?

"Because, Vince. My clothes right now are sweaty, sticky, and- EWW." I'd just noticed that they were covered in baby Tail Vault goop, too. "Plus, they kinda stick out. I need new ones, but I can't get them myself because Godo will find out."

"So...You want me to get them." I fought the urge to clap and give him a sticker.

"Yes, yes I do. I have five thousand gil. Get me clothes, nothing else." I said, tossing him my money pouch. Full of Godo's money.

He swept from the room again, without a single word. Sometimes I worry about that man.

* * *

A couple of hours later, we were out on the streets of Wutai Port. Vincent was doing his best to find a piece of cheap, effective armour, and I was doing my best to break Vinnie's legs without anyone in the street noticing. Wutai Port was just like Wutai town, except chintzier.

"Yuffie. If you could stop kicking me now, it would be much appreciated." he muttered darkly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I can't hear. I hate you, by the way." I said, flashing him my sweetest grin. I hated him for one simple reason: Vincent Valentine does not understand clothes.

He had returned to our hotel room after thirty minutes, carrying the remaining two hundred of MY gil and a bundle of crap, which he told me to try on. Half it didn't fit, mostly because Vincent doesn't understand that there is a considerable size difference between someone aged six and someone aged twenty. What _did_ fit was even more appalling.

"Vincent, what the hell is _this_?" I asked, holding the first offender up. He looked at me with a steely red eye.

"It appears to be a dress, Yuffie."

Need I say more?

The second contestant was almost as bad. A vomit green puffy shirt with khaki pants.

"That's the kind of thing I see Shelke wear, occasionally." he said in explanation.

"Question: how long was Shelke hiding out in the ruins of Midgar wearing nothing but a mako biosuit? Answer: most of her life. A fashion guru she ain't."

Which left me with option numero trois, which was even more fashion challenged but had the advantage of being a decent disguise.

Back in the present, I kicked Vincent so hard I heard my toe crack. Stupid metal clown shoes.

"I don't see what the problem is, Yuffie. You look fine." he said with a deliberately offhand voice and a faked smile. I know he faked, because a) Vincent doesn't _have_ an offhand way of speaking, and b) Vincent's fake smiles look like they were drawn onto his face with a biro. By a blind dude. With no fingers.

"Of course _you'd _say that." I hissed. He just shook his head and carried on looking. I swiftly insulted his family, his sexual preferences and everything he knew or loved before slipping seamlessly back into character, squealing, and hugging him.

But despite all my efforts, I couldn't stop the leather from squeaking when I touched him.

Yes, that's right. I, Yuffie Kisaragi, the most awesome ninja in the world, had been forced by Vincent Valentine, the biggest prat in known existence, to wear a full leather bodysuit.

"I didn't know what else to get. So, I went with what I knew." he'd said in the hotel room. I held it up, looking at the black, shiny leather-ness.

"No FRICKING way." I swore.

"No one would expect _you_ to wear it. The value as a disguise is immense. Additionally...I'm told by Cloud that I have a fan-base in Edge, who emulate me." he went on, as if I hadn't spoken. "It's a valid cover story."

And so, after an hour arguing, it came to pass that I was following Vincent Valentine, dressed as Vincent Valentine. With the hood of Vincent Valentine's mouldy old traveller's cloak pulled _way_ down over my face.

There really is no sensation in the world like putting on a leather bodysuit. The closest thing to it is being eaten. Except, not like being eaten. Because you have to wriggle, like a beached salmon, inching your way in. And then it's so freaking tight when you're in there. Gawd, how does Vince do it? Not to mention the smell, and the fact that it's so heavy. Leather sucks.

Pretending to be a fangirl for someone you want to freaking murder sucks more, though. The shopkeepers kept giving me funny looks, like _I _was the pervert. Hello, sixty-year-old vampire wannabe who dresses in leather twenty-four-seven at twelve o' clock! Gawd, it sucked.

We did manage to find some armour, though- a black market Shinra Beta. The shopkeeper, of course, had something to say to Vince about his 'fan'.

"Ah, sir, your partner must very much enjoy your company to cling so close!" the old man crooned. I could have lost a ten-gil piece in his eyebrows.

"She isn't my partner...Just a fan who is charmingly devoted." Vince replied to spare my embarrassment. It sounded as though my 'devotion' was anything but charming- probably because I was secretly poking him in the kidneys.

As we left the shady den, I clipped the Shinra Beta to my wrist. I felt much safer just for having it there, like a little amulet. At least I'd had a little revenge on Vinny- he'd paid to make up for wasting all my gil on crappy clothes.

"Now, Yuffie. We shall require a weapon for you if you are to be in any position to fulfil your end of the bargain." Vinnie muttered to me. I grinned underneath the hood.

"No problem. I already liberated one." I snickered. I was gratified that he hadn't noticed.

"'Liberated'? A fine word for common theft." Vinnie groaned. "I didn't see you 'liberate' anything other than a piece of paper."

How can someone who takes fifteen years to eat a bowl of cereal annoy me so much?

"If I can use the Oritsuru to kill a Behemoth, I can use a piece of paper to kill a few Tail Vaults." I said. "I just need to use my awesome origami skills."

"Then I suggest we hasten back to the inn so you can construct this weapon of yours." Sir Capey answered.

* * *

As soon as we got back to our room at the inn, I flopped down to the floor, and proceeded to show Vince just how awesome my origami skills were.

The key word in that sentence is 'were'. I hadn't done any origami in years, and found myself lacking patience for it.

"Yuffie, I was told the aim of origami is to fold paper. You appear to be wrestling it." Captain Emo was helpful as always.

"Oh, shut up! Like you can do any better, Edward Metalhands!" I spat, wrestling with my origami some more. I think I offended him (his metal claw thing is a touchy subject, I guess) because he stopped looking over my shoulder and went to clean his gun. Good riddance.

In the end, I managed to make my paper look a little bit like a bird. A creased, ripped, crumpled bird. I gave it the nickname Waruitori.

It means 'bad bird'. But I told Vince it means 'Phoenix of Awesomeness'.

"Vince, I'm gonna need a piece of materia."

He looked at me like I'd pulled out my knicker-revolver and shot him again. Although this time I don't blame him as much. I always did have sticky fingers when materia was about. Eventually, after much "..."-ing and "Hn"-ing, he pulled out a chunk of baby restore materia, freshly split from his mastered version. He tossed it to me, red eyes following it closely, like he was waiting for a sleight of hand.

I pressed it to the paper, slowly. I wasn't sure if my improvised weapon could hold materia. However, after a second, it started to melt into the paper like butter melts into toast. Gingerly, I picked up the Waruitori, feeling the subtle change in weight that the restore materia had brought. Then, I smashed it against the headboard of the bed.

Instead of crumpling like it should have, it bit into the headboard like it was made of iron, the materia's strength holding the weapon firm. The cut wasn't deep, but it was there- it was a functioning weapon. I grinned.

Actually, no. I didn't grin. I danced around shouting and whooping. I only stopped when I was very sure indeed that I had annoyed He Of The Leather Trousers.

"Yuffie. I'd like to go over our battle plan in case we get into any dangerous situations tomorrow." he said, like the prude he was. I sighed.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Dinner tasted like the ingredients were sourced from the hotel's ashtrays. My leather-clad butt squeaked intolerably, whilst Vinnie's maintained a deathly silence. Eventually, as the moon started to peep out from the mountains, Vince suggested we go to sleep.

This pleased me.

I couldn't be bothered to wriggle out from my stupid leather outfit, so I kept it on. It weighed down on my chest, making breathing difficult as I lay on Vinnie's spare cloak, just as I had done the night before. Vincent took the bed (the pompous jackass), and, to my delight, he soon fell asleep.

Oh, and by the way. He snores. I know, I was surprised too.

I wasn't, however, surprised that he had fallen asleep. Although he had seen me pocket the paper earlier, he _hadn't_ seen me helping myself to a few well-known Wutaian herbs. Even if he did, I don't think he would have realised that it was Sleeproot. And how could he guess that I would sprinkle it liberally into his dinner?

All this leads up to one of the great rules of ninjahood: It's easy to escape when everyone's asleep.

_

* * *

Chapter End_

* * *

A/N: This chapter was a lot slower than the others in pace. If I kept the same pace throughout, it would get boring. It also has less humour, because the things they had to do were somewhat mundane, but also because I wanted this chapter to be a little more in the way of emotional development. However, next chapter is going to be **full** of action and humour, so I hope you'll join me for it! (I might edit this chapter later, because I'm not altogether satisfied with it. Just a heads up.


	4. Of Bedsheets, Leather, And Icebergs

_Chapter Three: Of Bedsheets. Leather, and Icebergs_

* * *

Bedsheets are the best friend of the determined ninja. They're perfect for hiding under, creating a distraction with, and most importantly, making improvised bed sheet ropes so your ass and the ground don't have a fatal first date when you finally decide to jump out of the window and escape.

For some unknown reason, I find myself jumping out of windows a lot.

It's an interesting fact that the crappier the hotel you stay at, the better the bedsheets are for climbing. Posh hotels have nice silk bedsheets, which are really soft and fluffy and all, but which will definitely kill you if you try and climb down them. Crappy hotels have bedsheets made of granite and teeth, and they will not break no matter what you do to them.

Well, just so long as your name isn't Barret and you don't weigh as much as an obese grizzly bear.

As I slid down the bed sheet rope, wincing every time I had to go over a knot at high speed, I started to have second thoughts about abandoning Vincent.

Just kidding. I was actually thinking about going back and stealing his guns.

But honestly, as much as I enjoyed (cough) the company of Dracula's evil twin, Monster Hunter Yuffie really wasn't floating my boat as a career choice. Plus, it was WRO work, and I did _not_ want to get involved with Reeve again. Bad times.

So, I really had no alternative but to drug Vinnie, steal all his money and slink off into the night in the most awesomely skilful way possible. I wasn't particularly worried about Vince's reaction- he'd understand. It wasn't like I hadn't done it before, and anyway, what did he expect after making me dress up like an S&M fangirl? Plus, I had left him a note, written in my own inimitable style.

I even sticky-taped it to his forehead so he wouldn't lose it.

I hit the ground with more of a slap than a thud. Stupid leather bodysuit. I was still wearing it- I still needed a disguise. I still had his spare cloak, too. No one would question me if I said I was a fangirl looking for Vinny. They'd probably never guess that he was the one I was running away from.

Besides, Captain Emo doesn't talk to stranger. He just shoots them.

Wutai Port at daytime is a cesspit of false smiles and watered down Wutaian culture. It's a utopia for the conman, the opportunist, the fraudster. Wutai Port at night is even worse. The crappy chintz seems even worse in the moon's sombre gaze, and the tacky lanterns took on a new and sinister edge.

It was like that nice, lovable, son-of-a-bitch conman you met in the day suddenly upped and became a lawyer.

But worse than that was the sense that I was in trouble. I guess even the best ninja have a conscience. Shadows jumped out at me, becoming tall and dark and incredibly fashion challenged. The red fabric that trailed behind me was a reminder that Vincent Valentine was currently the most dangerous thing on the island, and that when he woke up, Vincent Valentine was going to be as pissed as a scalded cat.

I shook it away. Let him be angry. I was going to be on the first ship off the island, giving him a fond one-fingered salute as I sailed away. And then I'd go and indulge in a spot of puking over the side of the boat.

Then the boat would hit an iceberg and I'd be left floating on a raft, with a dude I just met telling me that I'd die an old lady in my bed. The End.

Probably a good thing I never made it to the boat. That would have been a pretty lame story.

It was, annoyingly, Vinnie himself who indirectly saved me. As I rushed towards the ship (and the icebergy doom which it contained), I became aware of something...watching. Not watching like Cid watching TV, but watching like a sixty-three year old man watches a bus full of schoolkids whilst licking his lips.

Now, being watched will cramp the style of any ninja. For a particularly epic ninja like myself, it's worse. To cut a long story short, it totally threw me off my groove. And I need my groove. For grooving.

For a few moments, all was quiet. I had stopped running. I was standing completely still. It's weird, to know that someone's watching you. What should you do? And what if they have a gun? If you stay still, it gives them time to aim. If you look for them, they know you know they're watching you and shoot sooner.

The answer is to watch them watching you without letting them know that you're watching them watching you. Except if they start to watch you watching them watching you watching them.

Then it starts to loop around and eventually creates a paradox in which everything is the opposite of what it is.

Which would make Vincent a nice guy and me a total bitch. (For more more vaguely interesting and completely untrue theories on paradoxes and space, read my upcoming book, 'A History Of Time...s when Barret got wasted and started watching Discovery Channel'.)

I spent ten minutes stood stock still, watching the people watching me, before it happened.

"...You're Vincent Valentine, ain't you?"

I heard a sharp intake of breath as I whirled around to face the voice. I realised that it was me who gasped. A man with long, dark hair was looming from the shadows, with the barrel of a rifle aimed squarely at my chest.

That hair continues to haunt me. It flowed like a tumbling waterfall of liquid silk, down past his shoulders and to the small of his back. It was off-black, a delicious mix of shadow and dark chocolate. It was my mother's hair.

"Well, are you or not?"

His voice was entirely different, cut from barbed wire and tin mugs. It rasped, scraped, _burnt_ in the night air. I nodded, without knowing why.

I had forgotten that I was now a spitting image of Vinnie the S&M fiend.

"Heh-heh. Well, well." he drawled, in that metallic rasp of his. In different circumstances, it would have irritated me. "Tony, we've found him."

'Tony' came out of the shadows too. He wasn't at all like the other man. Tony was round like a beachball, and the other guy was so thin he seemed to taper to a point- kind of like Vinnie's shoes. Tony's face was simple and smooth, whereas Mystery Dark-hair Dude's was full of lines, with the skin pulled rough between them. I got the feeling that Tony was a lackey.

Did I forget to mention that he had a tommy-gun?

"Mr. Valentine. You've caused us an awful lot of trouble, you know." the tall one drawled on, with an almost theatrical tone. I tensed. He was waving the rifle around without realising it. Getting distracted. Not professional.

"Now, we could end all that trouble by pumping a few rounds into you." he carried on, motioning at the hood I had drawn over my head, as if to say _no one will care_. "But instead, we'd like you to do something for us."

Gawd, I almost wet myself laughing.

Honestly, what the hell? A skinny little street-rat and his fat friend thought they could out-gun Vinnie? Barret has the same chance of putting out the sun with a fart. Still, it was interesting that Vinners was a wanted man, too. I might be able to blackmail him later.

"Uh...Br- I mean, John." It was Tommy Gun Tony, finally speaking up. His voice was...plushy. He seemed to have forgotten his boss's codename for a second there- definitely not professional. He pointed a shaking finger at my leather suit.

"Since when did Vincent Valentine have breasts?"

Crap and double-crap. I was hoping they wouldn't notice them. None of the other guys do. (Stupid Teef and her balloon bosoms, stealing all the attention.)

As it dawned on Darkhair that I wasn't wearing leather trousers to compensate for something (unlike someone else I know), he swung the rifle barrel clumsily into firing position from where it had wandered. His hand clamped down on the butt, ready to fire, but I was too quick.

By the time he pressed the trigger, I had ducked. An ear-splitting crack reported above my head. Lazily, I whipped out my hand and smashed him where men should not be smashed. He doubled over in pain, clutching the offending organ. The rifle clattered to the ground, and Tony was fumbling with his Tommy, and my hand grabbed the tip of the Waruitori hidden in the cloak-

It happened so quickly I almost didn't realise it. One moment I was ducking and weaving to avoid being shot, and the next minute, Fat Tony was splayed on the ground, his chest open for the whole world to see, and my paper bird was painted irrevocably red. Darkhair scrambled for his rifle and I turned, my hand arcing through the air without me even willing it. There came a sickening, gut-wreching squelch. And then Darkhair tried to fire his rifle, but he couldn't.

Because now he only had one arm.

It was terrifying. I hadn't meant to do so much damage, but it was like my body was on autopilot. Darkhair looked up at me, his mouth open in a silent howl. He was pleading, begging, crying. Why had I done this?

Years of training had just taken over, and now there were two men on the ground, bleeding to death. In the back of my mind, something screamed at me. _You have Restore materia. Use it!_

I didn't. I did what any good ninja would do. I left those two men there to die.

I cheesed it.

* * *

When I finally stopped running (was it minutes, or was it years?), my hands were shaking. Sweat was erupting from every inch of skin. I'd just killed two people. Left them to die. Like a murderer.

I'd killed before, of course. Shinra Employees, SOLDIERS, and countless, countless monsters. But that was different. Shinra soldiers wore masks at all times. It made them seem less human, somehow. You couldn't see them scream, or their faces contort in agony when they realised that all that blood was from them. You couldn't see the light die in their eyes. Some part of me, some small corner of my heart that I hadn't even noticed before, burst into flames.

Was this how Vincent had felt, in his coffin for so many years?

I was back in the mountains. _Mountains suck_, I thought lamely. My legs seemed like jelly. My stomach was full of imaginary iron weights. Even the coming zombie apocalypse wouldn't have cheered me up.

Much less the chilling howl that echoed around the hills.

It jerked me out of my short-lived depression. First rule of ninjahood: survival comes first. Emotions take a back-seat.

First rule of SOLDIER, too. Except replace 'survival' with 'crashing a giant meteor into the planet'.

Whatever made that howl, it wasn't native. What had Vincent said about something being wrong with the monsters? My head was too fuzzy.

Why had Vinnie wanted me to come with him, anyway?

Something in my brain was struggling, trying to piece together a picture I didn't want to see. But I knew I had to see it, or else...

Something was wrong with the monsters. Vincent didn't want to go alone. Alone. I was alone. Safety in numbers. He'd given me Restore materia. Monsters were breeding. Shotgun instead of pistol. Shotguns are good for crowd control. Restore materia. He had a mastered piece too. He'd been concerned enough to save me before. He would've normally ignored it because he'd recognise my voice, known it was me. He'd been so concerned about getting me some good armour, leaving weapons until last. He'd wanted to plan rather than blaze in with his shotgun.

Crap, crap, crap. It all fell into place. I was in huge, huge trouble.

Whatever was out here, it wasn't alone. Vinnie had brought Restore materia in case he got hurt, meaning he was expecting to take some damage. He'd been anal about armour because he knew it was going to be dangerous. He wanted me along because he wasn't confident of success by himself.

Vincent Valentine, currently the most dangerous thing on the island, was no longer currently the most dangerous thing on the island.

And here I was, out in the open, with my heart falling towards my stomach and my stomach falling towards my shoes.

To make matters worse, it was a Monday. And I freakin' hate mondays.

Another howl echoed around the mountains. Still, I was a ninja. I could run and hide. I'm good at running and hiding. They'd only find me if they smelt blood.

I looked down at my Waruitori, painted claret by five pints of the finest AB negative. Well, there went that plan.

I started to move. This time, all my grace, the effortless lope that carried me across miles and miles without tiring, the quiet footsteps I'd taken so long to perfect, were all gone. It was like I was running in slow motion. Every time my foot hit the ground, I could hear it echo up to the mountain peaks. Still I ran, crunching across stone, thudding across bridges, shakily inching my way across ledges. It was as if my inner ninja had deserted me.

Yup, it's official: I was having a bad day.

In fact, not even a bad day. It was still dark. Darkness would make it harder for me to see, but the monsters didn't need to see. They could smell. My weapon was the equivalent of a huge cooked steak for them, and they were gonna follow it until they got a taste.

It didn't take long for them to catch up. Monsters are just like pets: the promise of a good meal will always make them come running. The same principle applies to Cloud, too. Except, you can house-train monsters and pets.

They moved like ghosts, seeming to waft lazily along the ground rather than walk on it in any way. Except, they were wafting lazily whilst someone pressed the fast forwards button on the remote control of life. Their legs were long, and almost ridiculously thin. They didn't exactly have fur, but they weren't exactly bald either; it was like fur and muscles, all entwined together and on the outside.

At first I thought they were Fangs or Guard Hounds, but then I remembered that Guard Hounds and Fangs don't have _four heads_. Silly me.

At this point, I wasn't worried that they were going to eat me. I thought that they were angry because they'd mistaken me for the person who'd knocked them upside the head with the ugly stick.

By the time I was done thinking that, they were upon me. Fast butt-ugly doggies.

The first one seemed to overshoot me by accident, carrying on past me on the right side. I caught a powerful blast of rotten meat as it went by. The second had better aim, but lost its nerve and shuddered to a halt five feet in front of me, its claws screeching against the hard mountain rock.

I started to move forwards, hand on weapon, mentally mocking Vinnie for being overcautious. This wasn't going to be hard at all.

Then a third monster leap-frogged the one in front and smashed into my chest.

I was pushed over by the sudden weight of the four-headed beast, and started to topple backwards. I instinctively shot out my hands backwards to so I could backflip the monster away. But before my hands touched the ground, the first one came from behind and barrelled into my legs, taking my feet out far faster than I had anticipated.

I hit the floor flat on my back, but my leather suit padded the blow. The beast on my chest started trying to snap at me with four mouths that stank of week-old blood. I whipped my hand up, knuckles first, into one of its jaws. Desperation gave my weary muscles strength, and I felt the jaw crack like a brazil nut. The momentum knocked it off me, and I sprang to me feet. It jumped away, joined by its two pack-mates.

They fell into formation, one to the left, one in the middle, one on the right. _Great. Since when did monsters get this intelligent?_, I wondered. At least there were only three- the fact that each of them had four heads probably fooled the locals into thinking there were more when they heard the howls.

They shot forwards again in a manoeuvre so well choreographed it could have been a dance. They were perfect, each footfall perfectly matching the step of the others to the point where it was uncanny. They were trying to drive me back, get me on the run. And running was really the only sane choice.

I'm not very sane.

As they ran forwards, I ran to meet them. I saw a few of the heads cast worried glances to each other, but they kept coming regardless. I aimed at the middle one, hoping I was quick enough. But they were so fast, and before I could reach it, it was already in the air, flying towards my face...

Just like I wanted it to.

I ducked, letting the momentum carry me into a slide. The wind was rushing in my ears and the blood pounding in my head, but the coarse mountain terrain couldn't harm the touch leather of my S&M armour, and I managed to get the Waruitori pointing upwards towards a disgustingly muscular stomach-

It never stood a chance. As soon as it landed, it keeled over and lay still. I whipped around, preparing myself to face the other two.

They were already dead, laid flat out on the floor, each head wearing a shocked expression. My heart dropped as I whipped around again, knowing exactly what I'd see.

Vinnie blew the smoke from the barrels of his gun, and shot me a Vincent-brand killer death glare. complete with a three month cashback guarantee.

"_Dear Vinnie. You suck. Love Yuffie._" he said, taking the note I had written him out of his pocket. And he did _not _look impressed.

_

* * *

Chapter End!

* * *

_

A/N: Well, there we go- the first 'true' action scene. Good, bad? I really don't know. I'm pretty pleased with this chapter, myself. Maybe it's because things are finally getting underway, huh?

(Oh. And the next chapter may be a little later than usual; I have exams in the next few days, and that's distracting. It's one of the reasons I was trying to be speedy with this- to tide you over in the gap, so to speak. It won't be too long of a delay, though.)


	5. Beards Are Not For Girl Scouts

A/N: Sorry for the delay, folks. An epic ninja stole my writing skills.

_

* * *

Chapter Four: Beards Are Not For Girl Scouts

* * *

_

It was getting slightly tense as me and Sir Nevertalks rode back to Wutai Port on his big black birdmobile. He was, understandably, pissed off. Although, he didn't say so. He just kind of pointed his gun at me and glared.

He has such a way with words, that guy.

I wondered exactly how I was going to get the blood off of my Waruitori. Paper isn't easy to wash, y'know. Tends to get all...like...smooshy. And smooshy weapons suck royally if you plan on killing stuff with them.

_How_ did I ever cope with the Oritsuru again?

"Yuffie. Why are you out here?" Vinnie said, as if he were talking to himself. He may as well have been- I was so surprised to hear his voice I almost fell off the emo-bo.

He turned to look at me as I scrambled back onto the _minuscule_ amount of the saddle he'd given me. (He probably hogs the duvet at nights, too.) And before I knew it, his red eyes were on mine, like freakin' x-ray lasers. Superman style, bitch.

If I'd had a chunk of kryptonite in my pocket, I'd have administered it to him as a suppository.

"I...err...No reason." Crap. Why is it so hard to lie to Vince, anyways?

For a moment, he was so silent I could practically hear his brain ticking.

Fun fact: If Vincent opens his mouth and you put your ear to it, you can hear the ocean. He's THAT vacant sometimes.

"...You don't have to be modest, Yuffie. In fact, it's...frightening." he said, approaching what counts as gruff for him. And it all clicked in my awesome ninja brain, right there.

When he'd found me, I'd been fighting monsters. The monsters we were gonna hunt anyway. Instant alibi, baby. When life gives you lemons, steal its wallet when it turns around. (Lemons are pretty freaking useless anyway).

"Okay, I admit it. I was getting all...uh...worried about ya." I choked. Stupid Vince, making me have to pretend to be concerned over him. "So I went out and tried to bust the monsters without you."

He cocked an eyebrow. "...Is that a fact? I'd imagined you were just trying to show off."

Vincent, you're a freaking arrogant man-whore. I pretend to be nice to you, and THAT's what I get? Go suck a machete.

"No, I was worried about you. You're getting old, after all." I chirped, ignoring his insult. He cocked his eyebrow again (two facial expressions in five minutes? Gawds, the end is nearing!) and muttered something about not being that old.

"Well. I assumed that you had broken our...agreement, and called in some friends." he grumbled. I was tempted to tell him that he didn't have any friends, but then he'd PMS at me.

So I told him.

"Yuffie. Considering you were worried about my well-being, I'd mark you as a friend. So, you're invalidating your own existence."

Dirty whore. I'm gonna take that machete and shove it right up there with the kryptonite.

"At any rate. We will receive guests at the hotel tonight." he said. He then clammed up, no matter how much I tried to engage him in intelligent conversation ("By the way, Vince, you ever read a fashion magazine? Gimp suits are _so_ last season.") or how hard I jabbed him in the ribs.

Swiftly running out of topics for him to not reply to, I ran down a list of his family members who had incestuous sex with each other. Then I decided not to talk.

Still, it was annoying to think that I owed him my life twice over. I mean, I'm a ninja. He's a...Vincent. I should be the one dragging his ass out of trouble. And considering that he'd been all nice enough to buy me stuff so I didn't die, I owed him a little bit...

Stupid traditional Wutaian values.

When we got to the hotel in the afternoon (it was the same shack of crap we'd stayed in the night before, joy of all joys), I began phase one of operation 'Be Nice To Vinnie'.

It didn't go well.

Being nice to Vince is like being nice to a freaking toaster. You can compliment him, give him things, do errands for him, and all he'll do is "Hn" a little and maybe shoot a couple slices of burnt bread at you. And I did all sorts of nice things. Honestly.

First of all, I fetched him a dinner from the restaurant. He "Hn"-ed at me, turned straight around and tossed it out of the window, plate and all.

"Vinnie, what the hell?" I seethed, jabbing him in the chest with my finger.

"The last time I ate a meal in your presence, Yuffie, it contained no small amount of sleeping herb." he said, whipping out his death-glare. "I'd like to know _why_ you had to drug me, anyway. It would not have been necessary if all you intended to do was go and hunt the monsters by yourself."

I thought quickly. "You're cute when you're asleep." I grinned, injecting my voice with some fake sexiness. Just as I planned, he turned away in utter disgust. Yuffie one, Vince nil.

Phase two of 'Be Nice To Vinnie' was taken straight from Dating 101. 'Find out what your crush (or undead gunslinging emo-lord) enjoys, and talk exclusively about that.'

Here's the short version:  
"So, Vinners. What do you like?"  
"...Silence."  
I think that, in a past life, Vince was a pair of Cid's underwear. Because he's just _so_ full of crap.

Luckily, I never got to Phase Three. (Phase Three of being nice to any man: strip poker.)

Unluckily, it was because Vinnie's guest arrived, just as I was making He Who Fears The Sun a cup of tea.

The knock on the door was timid and unsure, lacking in any force. For a moment, I was convinced that Vinnie had invited a Girl Scout over to give me a stern talking to and a box of badger snaps. Then Vinnie stalked over to the door, being Pied Piper to the dust-bunny army again, and threw it open. At which point I was became fairly sure it wasn't a Girl Scout.

Because not many Girl Scouts have such fine facial fuzz as Reeve Tuesti.

Of the top ten people who I did NOT want to see, Reeve Tuesti ranked in at number four. And seeing as ol' Sephy Silver Hair only made number seven, that's pretty bad. (Vinnie was number two, but I'd been in the same room as him for two days, so he lost some places. Still number nine, though, because he's a whore.)

"Ah, Yuffie. It's...er, lovely to see you again." he muttered, bashfully.

Crap, crap, crap. Soon I'd be feeling sorry for him, and I knew damn well where that would end up. Grasping desperately for something to avert the crisis that was Reeve, I wondered: What would Cid do? And suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration. I pointed my finger at him, and began Operation Flummox Reeve.

"_Sit your ass down in that chair and drink your goddamn TEA!_"

Reeve sat down in the chair and drank his goddamn tea.

Cid, you're a god and I bow down to your greatness. You and me 'til dawn, baby.

Actually, it wasn't Reeve's tea. It was the tea for Phase Two-and-a-half of Operation Be Nice To Vinnie. This might have explained why Vinnie was glowering at Reeve so badly, although it's more likely he was annoyed that Reeve wasn't venting his man-period over me. (Eww. Man-period.)

"Reeve." Vinnie started, and for a glorious moment I thought he was going to complain about Tuesti's tea snatching. "I think we should explain the current situation to Yuffie, and examine her take on things."

King Goth wanted my opinion on something? I was tempted to duck in case I was hit by a flying pig.

"I agree. If anything, her views will be...unique." Reeve nodded, his backhanded insult smarting my cheeks. Honestly, why is it that every man I know is an idiot? I would've given anything just then for Teef and her double Ds to burst in and teach them some manners. As it was, I just kicked him in the shin, to show that I was more mature than him.

"Yuffie, please. If you are to travel in the current global situation, you need to know what's going on." Vince said. He gazed right at me, his red eyes contorted in...what? Bemusement, anger, pity? I'd never seen the emotion before.

"Ahem. In the past six months, there have been worldwide reports of strange and deadly monsters on the loose." Reeve began pompously.

"Reeve, the essentials." Vincent groaned, placing his head in his hands. Obviously, he'd sat through the long version.

"Uh...Okay, I'll make it short." Tuesti grumbled, taken aback. He turned to me. "Yuff, how much do you know about monsters, and where they came from?"

I ignored his unwanted nickname for me. "Shinra, right? I seem to remember you working for them once, Reeve."

"Ouch, Yuff. No need to bite." he mumbled. Vincent cleared his throat. "Anyway, that's true. Although some of the creatures we call 'monsters' exist naturally, Shinra were responsible for the majority of them."

"...There were two ways in which monsters were created." Vinnie stood up and carried on where Reeve left off. It was like being lectured by the Chuckle Brothers, only deadly serious. "First, infusing humans with mako and Jenova cells in special chambers. That was responsible for specimens like Sephiroth."

Not to mention Cloud, I thought.

"However, that accounts for a small percentage. Most monsters are the results of mako radiation given out by poorly maintained reactors and equipment." he said, pacing slightly as he spoke. His brow was furrowed. "The energy caused mutations in natural animal populations at a rapid scale. Since Mako is a corruption of the Lifestream, living organisms are greatly affected by exposure."

Reeve stood up and took the baton. "But nowadays, we've managed to stop mako production in reactors. Although a few monster types have bred and propagated into a new species, most animals returned to pre-mutative stages once the mako radiation was removed."

Black eyebrows furrowed on two male faces. "At least, that was what we thought."

"New monsters are being born. We don't know why. As normal animal populations return to normal, these new monsters are upsetting the food chain with their more advanced predation skills." Reeve went on. His black books thudded against the inn floor. "Before, all creatures were mutating, so it was somewhat balanced. Now only one species is mutating in one area, and it's throwing everything out of proportion."

"We have theories on what's causing it, but we need data. Data from monster corpses. Which Vincent was _supposed_ to be getting."

It was stupid of me not to notice it before, I guess. The fact that they were finishing off each other's sentences, the terse dialogue, Vinnie actually opening his mouth. Whilst I was sitting there and being awesome, there was a macho power struggle going on between Vince and Reeve.

"Hmph. I would have brought them back, but I had to wipe them out quickly. Yuffie was in danger." Vince growled. If he'd had laser eye-beams, he'd have been firing them off like a Gatling gun. "Would you really want to see one of the world's saviours _dead_, all because the WRO needed a clean monster carcass?"

"It doesn't matter what the excuse is, Vincent Valentine." Reeve retorted, his eyes flashing. I groaned. It was Bad Cop Tuesti time. "The result is that we still don't know what's causing this threat. And the responsibility lies at your feet."

"_Responsibility_?" Vinnie's eyes were red-hot embers, burning a hole in Reeve's forehead. I didn't blame him. 'Responsibility' was a little too close to 'atonement' in Vincent Valentine's world. "I have already fulfilled any _obligation_ I might have had to the people of this planet. I help you because it suits me. Remember that."

I found myself siding with Vincent in this one, and not just because Reeve topped him in my list of people I didn't want to see. Vinnie's 'sin', as he called it, was to let Hojo experiment on Lucrecia, which resulted in Sephiroth. Sephiroth and Hojo were dead, and Vincent had a huge metal coated hand in both their deaths. He'd faced his demons, and dammit, he'd won. Frankly, Reeve had no place telling Vincent Valentine what his responsibilities were. I think he realised that too.

"...I apologise, Vincent. I'm just worried, is all. These monsters...are different from the ones we've faced in the past. If my theory is correct, they'll eventually become far more dangerous than even our greatest foes. We need to head it off at the pass." Reeve said, his voice flat. He was conceding, but he didn't like it.

"Hn." Vinnie did a Vince Valentine brand Cloak-Fwip™ and turned away.

"Hah...Anyway. Yuffie, the WRO would like your help." Reeve said, turning to me. "Vincent has informed me of your situation, and as you'll be travelling anyway, we can make things a little easier if you'll accompany Vincent on a few monster gathering sorties."

I took all of half a second to ponder my answer.

"No way in hell, Reeve."

I lied. I didn't think about that answer. I used the half a second to decide whether to give him a one fingered salute, which I did with relish.

He ignored it and ploughed on. "Look, Yuffie. I know we've had our differences. But think about this. I've already spoken to Tifa and Cloud. Tifa's willing to give you a job and house-room at Seventh Heaven. All you have to do is get to Edge."

"Well, why should I take detours just so I can risk my life killing monster super-spawn?" I pouted. Stupid stubborn Reeve. He really hadn't changed since we had that argument-

"Because, Yuffie." Vincent cut in. "You have already proved that you aren't currently in any state to travel alone. As such, I refuse to allow you to travel alone."

"And Vincent will be stopping to deal with monsters. Meaning you will be, too." Reeve smiled smugly.

Reeve's smug face is the face of pure evil, I swear.

"So, wait." I said, the gears of my ninja brain clicking into life. "You're making _Vinnie_ hold me _hostage_ so I do your dirty work?"

Reeve and Vincent looked at each other for a second. Reeve smiled.

"Well, pretty much." he said.

I stood up in outrage, trying to control myself. Calming thoughts, Yuffie. In with the good air, out with the bad. I took a final calming breath.

And then I broke Reeve's nose.

_

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Chapter End!

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_

A/N: Yeah, I know. Nothing important really happened, but I had to move the plot along. Otherwise, I might as well change the story title to 'Yuffie does stand-up comedy for a couple pages'. Expect the next chapter fairly soon to make up for the delay. As always, thanks for all the people who took time to review! The story now has over ten reviews, which prompted me to write a 'Landmark' fic called Cage. Check it out, if you like. It somewhat makes up for the lack of Yuffentine in this fic (there'll be a good chunk, I promise. I'm getting around to it).

Oh, and the reason why Yuffie's being kinda pissy with Reeve will be in the next chapter, so, yeah.


	6. The Dangers Of Receptacles

_Chapter Five: The Dangers of Receptacles

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_

Materia is a funny thing. I know this better than anyone. It's so shiny, you could use it as a mirror (given a good polish). And it's so tough, it can collide with Cloud's noodle and come off without a scratch.

And I'm not even sure that the _Meteor_ could handle that. I mean, forget Shinra's explosive huge materia rocket crap- we should've just shot Cloud out of a cannon and watched him shatter it into a million pieces. Then watched his brains bubble out of his ears in the cold vacuum of space. Well, the goop that passes for Cloud's brains, anyways.

So, in a lot of ways, materia is like a diamond. Tough and shiny. Except, it isn't. Diamonds are all sharp and cold and icky. Materia is warm to the touch, like a hot water bottle. It's the best feeling in the world to hold a piece in your palm after a cast, and watch the warm glow as the knowledge of the Ancients bubbles away in there. But materia has its downsides, too.

It has a tendency to get awesome ninjas into trouble. I mean, one moment I was jacking materia from random tourists, the next I was chasing a super-creep with a whacking great sword and a god complex. Worst career move ever.

But the worst thing about materia is that it can be used to fix Reeve's broken nose in less than two hours.

"Yuffie. I understand your sentiments, but this really is the only way for you to be safe." he'd said after his nose was fixed. I saw his eyes checking the exits were clear as he spoke.

"I don't care!" I'd seethed, pressing my hand to my forehead.

"..." was Vinnie's contribution. I told him to shut up.

But, then Reeve had come out with his puppy dog eyes. Reeve's normal face is dignified, his smug face is evil, but his puppy dog eyes are irresistible. I know this from harsh experience. In the end, I caved, on the condition that he was to go and jump off a cliff.

He still hasn't done it. I may have to take matters into my own hands.

After this 'compromise', he beat a hasty retreat, leaving me and the Caped Lose-ader to our own devices.

The night winds were piercing through the ramshackle walls of the hotel by the time Reeve had left. Vince had insisted we get packed and ready so we could leave in the morning. Which basically meant he didn't have to do anything, and I had to work. Which was normal, considering that Vincent was officially unemployed and had been for the last thirty years or so. As I grabbed all my stuff and told him to get a job, he stopped me.

"Yuffie. Why exactly did you treat Reeve in the way you did? I would have expected you to try and extract as much money and help as possible from him...much like you did with me." he said, his cold metal arm on my shoulder. I shuddered.

"Well, why are you working for the WRO? I never knew community service was your thing, Vinners." I spat back, defensively. He looked at me for a second, then grinned.

No, I didn't make that up. The King of Angst actually smiled. I wanted to catch a photo to preserve the evidence, but he wouldn't show up on it. It's an undead thing.

"If I tell you why I'm working for the WRO, will you inform me of the source of your disagreement with Reeve? Quid pro quo, as they say."

I smiled. What can I say? The man knows how I work.

"Sure. You first, Vince."

He took a few steps, his heavy metal shoes clunking on the wooden floor. It was deliberate. Vincent Valentine could and did move as if gravity had been suspended just for him. He's...graceful, in a way. Which doesn't make him any less of a man.

The leather trousers do that fine by themselves.

"Yuffie." It was his deepest bass, a quiet rumble in the darkest depths of his throat that seemed to pass vibrations through the entire room whilst still being quiet. I felt the goosebumps stand up on my arms.

"I have spent my whole life fighting."

As opposed to being interesting, obviously.

"When I was awoken in the Shinra mansion, it was to a world full of strife, but it was not the world that I had left behind. But the enemies I had left behind were still there, and so I had purpose." he went on. He leant his weight in the window-frame, his back to me. Good. I couldn't bear his eyes when he got like this.

"In the Deepground uprising, I was aimless, at first. They acted, I reacted. No purpose or design to it; I was merely saving lives because...well, it was the right thing to do, I think."

"You think? Didn't your mom ever teach you morals?" I retorted, without thinking. As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted them. His head whipped around to fix me with a steely glare, his black mane framing his displeasure. He turned away again without a word.

"But then, in the Tsviets, I found enemies again. Slowly, I started to itch for revenge for what they were doing, what they had already done. Rosso, for a cruelty that I have only seen in a few other humans. Azul, for his belief that life can only be lived in battle, and is brightest in death. And Nero..."

He tossed me another glance, and fell silent. I inwardly thanked him for it. Nero was not my favourite subject in the world. His darkness had been all pervading, sapping my strength, and, eventually, me. For a long time afterwards, I felt like I was...less, somehow. The memory rankled in my gut.

"And then, I found Hojo's involvement. And suddenly my greatest enemy was before me again. In that moment, I found both hatred and joy. Hatred for Hojo and his madness. Joy because I had an enemy again, something against which to throw myself." he went on, his voice becoming dangerously low. I realised, in a flash of stark revelation, that he was ashamed.

"And now, here I am. My enemies are all gone, Yuffie." he said, turning. "I have fought all my life, and now there is nothing left _to_ fight. I have earned my peace, but...perhaps peace is not what I truly wanted."

"So you took a post as Reeve's dog in the WRO?"

"Hn."

We stayed silent for a few minutes. Gawd, I hate Vinnie and his awkwardness. Why do I put up with him, again?

Oh yeah. Because he's practically holding me hostage. The whore.

"So, Yuffie. You agreed to tell me the source of the emnity between you and Reeve." he said, walking towards me.

"Oh, yeah." I grinned as he walked a little bit closer.

Aside from the fact that Captain Coffin was blatantly disrespecting my personal space, I was uncomfortable because I hadn't actually intended to tell him about Reeve. Hey, ninja are allowed to lie, it's in the job description.

(Just to clarify, although greatness is also in a ninja's job description, sexiness only appears in mine.)

But he just _had_ to go all 'emotional journey' on me, didn't he? I'd feel bad if I didn't tell him now. Not because I care or anything, but because he'd probably go and murder some pedestrians with his freaking shotgun.

So, I took a deep breath, and told him.

"Me and Reeve got married last summer."

I swear, Vinnie's face contained so much what-the-frick you could extract it and use it to incubate llamas. But, for some reason, he was frowning.

"Pysche! Come on, Vince. You really think I'd marry a guy with that face fuzz? You think I'd marry _at all_?" I laughed. Vince didn't look amused.

"Hmph. Your immaturity ensures that there's no man foolish enough to marry you." he muttered, pulling another Cloak-Fwip™.

"Ah, but seriously, we dated for a while. Office party got out of hand, and I said yes. On camera." I winced. Damn my petite size and matching alcohol tolerance! What would Sensei Cid say if he knew I'd got wasted and agreed to be Reeve's piece of ass? Well, actually...

"_F'ckin brat._ _You called me just to tell me THAT? I was just about to have some sexy time with my goddamn wife! Call back when you've gotten into his pants. Oh, and pics or it didn't happen!"_

Yeah, that's exactly what he said. Nice to have an intellectual conversation every now and then.

"It didn't work out." He said it like an accusation. Way to be supportive, Vince. Honestly, you're not allowed to be mean to people on the rebound. That just sucks.

"Well, nah. We kept it up for a month or two, but...Well, he's the boss of the WRO. Before that he was one of the top bosses in Shinra. He's used to giving orders. And I'm not used to taking them." I sniffed.

"And you hate him because of this?" he asked, one ebony eyebrow raised. I scowled.

"I don't hate him. It's just...awkward. It's easier to try and get him to go away than it is to be around him." I sighed.

"...Hn. I'm sorry."

Then, with the most awkward and unpractised gesture possible, he put an arm around my shoulder.

Yup, it was turning out to be another weird day. I'm gonna have nightmares about it later in life, I can just tell. I looked up at his face, and it was set with anxiety. Guess he didn't do this kinda thing often. Figures- people with warm blood make him hungry.

After we'd had our little moment, I grabbed all my stuff, and found that Reeve (damn his mom and his brother for conceiving him) had actually been nice enough to drop some of the clothes I'd dumped as his place during our little dating escapade.

Is there a religion that worships short shorts and tank tops? If not, I'm starting one.

However, twenty minutes later, I was still no closer to passing as a normal member of society than before. In fact, I was still in the bathroom, wriggling like a fish to get out of Vinnie's goddamn gimp suit. After wearing it for two days straight, I'd forgotten just how icky it was, especially with all the sweating I'd done in my big monster hunt. At last, I pulled myself free, and it dropped to the tiled floor with a disgusting wet flop.

It only took me five minutes to change back into my regular clothes. Five glorious minutes of air on my skin instead of leather, of being able to move without embarrassing squeaks and repressive tightness. My first thought afterwards was to burn the damn thing, but fire is hard to start when the only things you have in the room are toothpaste and water.

I was still deciding what to do when I heard a knock on the door.

"Yuffie. I hate to disturb you, but..."

Oh my gawd. Vince needed to use the toilet. This would be my revenge for all the things which I don't remember but which I'm sure he did. I'd stay in the bathroom and make him wet himself.

And then he'd feel so small and ashamed that he'd just curl up and cry, which would allow me to make my daring escape from Reeve's little bodyguard.

I have the most awesome plans ever.

"Oh, Vince? Sorry, but...I'm not quite dressed yet. Y'know, lady clothes are harder to put on than they look." I grinned, pulling off my shirt. The secret to telling lies is to have a kernel of truth, and now I wasn't quite dressed. Perfect believability, baby.

"...Ugh. Yuffie. You've left an item of clothing in the bedroom. One that you should pick up and pack immediately." he said, sounding strangely urgent.

Wait, what? He didn't want the toilet? Son of a-

"What piece of clothing is it, Vince?" I asked. Everything seemed to be there...

"Your...receptacle." he said, another strange and complicated rasp rising from his throat.

"What? I thought you said an item of clothing, not a phone charger." I hissed, annoyed.

"Your...restraint." he said. I could almost hear the wince in his voice. Why couldn't he just talk plain English instead of mixing his words like a brainless monke-

"Oh. My. Gawd." I whispered as I realised what he was talking about.

Feeling a tinge of scarlet burn through my cheeks, I opened the door. As quick as a flash, I nabbed the offending article that Vince was holding at arm's length with his metal hand. And then I was back in the bathroom, my back to the door, feeling myself get more and more embarrassed.

"Oh my gawd. Oh my _gawd_." I repeated, holding the 'receptacle' in front of me.

Vincent Valentine had seen my spare bra. It must've fallen out of Reeve's little package. Or did he put it on the floor on purpose? I'd hunt that bearded pervert down and dangle him in an all guy's prison without any underwear. I could still remember the pained and embarrassed look on Vinnie's face as he held my bra out for me to snatch-

Wait, held?

I felt my cheeks tinge a little more. Forget seeing it, Vince had touched it! I hastily threw it into the sink and turned on the water. What if it got contaminated with Vincent's boringness? What if Vincent got contaminated with my awesome? This was the worst thing _ever_, even worse that Corneo and his rope tricks.

"...Guh...Yuffie. Please refrain from exiting the bathroom when less than fully dressed. It will make our journey more awkward still."

My eyes shot to my shirt, which was still on the bathroom floor where I'd left it.

I thought to myself, trying to remain calm. _Deep breaths, Yuff. Vinnie saw you in your bra. The only solution for this problem is to remove the witnesses. You've got to kill Vincent Valentine._

But how? And more importantly, where was I going to hide the body? The hotel cafeteria? No, the food didn't smell bad enough. The dumpster? No, there were probably people living in it. And then I hit upon the answer.

I'd have to chop him up into exactly two hundred and eight pieces, and hide one piece in every potted plant in town. But how was I going to-

"I'm...retiring to bed. Let us never speak of this incident to anyone. Ever." he hissed through the door. My cheeks flared again.

And so began my awkward, embarrassing, utterly pointless (but undeniably epic) monster hunting adventure with my sidekick, He Who Pervs Over Women's Clothing. All I can say is that something is _very_ wrong with my life.

* * *

_Chapter End!

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_

A/N: Well, I decided to make a headway into the emotional content I've been promising for so long. There wasn't really much occasion for funnies, although the bra escapade somewhat makes up for it. At least Vincent now has a motive for what he's doing. Thanks for everyone who's reviewed so far- your support is much appreciated!


	7. I'm On A Boat!

_Chapter Six: I'm on a boat, motherfu-

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_

I, Yuffie Kisaragi, am a ninja. This means that a) I am the fount of all kick-assery, and b) that I generally get into a whole pudding-cup load of trouble. Because of this, I have no problem admitting that there have been certain occasions where I have shaken in my little ninja booties.

(By the way. If you're, like, some bird-person reading this from a million years in the future, booties means shoes. Not, y'know, that I somehow have plural asses. That would be weird. Anyway, have a nice future-day! Except if you're a mole person. Mole people suck.)

Things that make me shake in my booties include silver haired mommy's boys, being tied to a cliff upside down, and old boybands making comeback tours.

Oh, and boats.

Now, the problem with boats (other than the fact that they look like huge shoes most of the time) is the fact that, well, they go into water. That's bad.

Wait, wait, lemme rewind. Let's go back to the awesome ninja bit- that's always a good place to start. When I was an awesome _trainee_ ninja, I was taught about the Wutaian Gods. The biggest and fugliest of which, in my mind anyway, is called Leviathan. Now, Leviathan is a sea-monster so big that even Behemoths say 'Damn', and he likes to kill people by drowning them in an awful lot of water. Boats go on water.

Can you say 'bad idea'?

And if that weren't bad enough, I met Captain Cloud and the Fail Brigade. Now, Cloud's not a bad guy, and he has a lot of talents, such as swordplay, motorbike racing, and looking like jailbait for randy chocobos. But, unsurprisingly, piloting a submarine is not one of them. I would honestly prefer Red to drive, and Red doesn't even have _hands_.

Well, to cut a long story short, pretty much the first thing Mr. My-Huge-Sword-Is-Definitely-_Not_-Compensating-For-Something did when he got the submarine was to crash us straight into freakin' Emerald Weapon. I mean, What. The. Hell.

(He claimed afterwards that he didn't see it. Well, it's only the size of a _major city_, Cloud. Gawd, get some contact lenses.)

The third, and biggest, problem with boats is that they make me barf. I mean, forget sea serpents and monsters and Meteor. Me vomiting is a bigger catastrophe than all of that little stuff.

So, boat equals bad. Seems pretty simple to me.

Which, I suppose, is why Vinnie completely couldn't understand why I didn't want to go on one.

"They're the only practical way off the island, Yuffie." he'd said.

"Don't care. Build a big canon, put me in it, and aim it at Rocket Town. Fire my luggage after me."

"Boats nowadays are safer than walking."

"Do you hear that? That's the sound of a big cannon not being built. And I don't like it."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Keep telling yourself that, Captain Clown-Shoes."

Despite my epic persuasion, Vinnie won the argument. And that's nothing for me to be ashamed of. Well, it is, but the guy's a gun-nut, and I'm not gonna give him an excuse to reach for his shotgun.

So, in the end, we took the boat. And because Vincent's anal retentive, we had to take the first boat in the morning. At four AM. And, because I'm not a morning person, I did something stupid.

"Hey, look Vince." I said, pointing at a spot in the harbour. "That's where I almost got shot."

From now on, I'm adopting a new motto in the morning. Give me coffee, or give me death.

"...You almost _what_?"

Vinnie started to intrude on my personal space again, hissing like Edward Cullen's less homosexual granddad. I gave him my best happy grin. He gave me his best bloodthirsty snarl.

"...Who, Yuffie?"

I noticed his hand fingering where his handgun would have been if he were carrying it. And immediately decided that the offence was the best defence.

"Some dudes with guns. And, before you accuse me of 'looking for trouble', or 'being ridiculous', or any of that self righteous crap you feed yourself, they were looking for _you._" I snarled back, jabbing him with my index finger for effect.

"That is...unlikely. You and I do not share the same physical characteristics." he said, the faintest whisper of embarrassment in his voice.

Which told me that by 'physical characteristics', he probably meant 'breasts'.

"Damn right, Mr. Clawful. These are my boobs, and I am definitely _not_ sharing them with you." I said, before realising what I was saying.

"...Ugh." He pressed his metal hand to his forehead.

"Tch. Whatever. You already know how big they are. Or weren't you smart enough to write down my cup size last night?" I spat. Still the most embarrassing moment of my life.

"Yuffie, what does this have to do with you being shot?" he groaned.

"Well, they thought I was you because I was wearing your spare cape and your gimp-suit at the time." I huffed. Just like him to avoid the topic.

"...Hn. It's possible." he muttered, clamming up. And no matter how hard I pried, I couldn't get any more info from him

So. To recap the situation, I was on a boat, throwing up over the edge, sure I was going to be killed by sea serpents and monsters and Cloud's driving (even though he wasn't there), with a moody vampire who wouldn't pull his head out of his own ass long enough to tell me what the hell was going on.

And I had another day and a half of it to look forward to. Lucky me.

I was actually surprised, in the couple of moments when I wasn't ejecting my dinner, lunch and breakfast into the ocean, that Vince wasn't enjoying himself. Pervy old men tend to like cruises, in my experience. My dad sure did.

In fact, I could just imagine Vince in one of those fashion challenged (everything about Vince is fashion challenged) tropical shirts, on a sun lounger, drinking a rum and coke. Unfortunately, I couldn't stretch my imagination to make him wear anything other than leather trousers.

This proves that, even in the confines of my own warped mind, Vincent without leather pants will cause the universe to divide by zero and explode.

On the other end of the spectrum, he could hide out in the cargo hold, picking off random sailors and drinking their blood, until finally we would be the only ones left and we'd be forced to steer the ship. This would mean that, as all sailors would be dead, I would get to wear a sailor hat. And there would be enough sailor hats left over to glue all over Vinny. I could then accuse him of being in the navy, and force him to sing the score of the S.S Pinafore.

Warped mind, remember?

I dispelled that little fantasy quickly, however. It reminded me far too much of the time we'd decided to join Sephiroth in the steerage class of the Junon junk-ship. I wondered idly what that fight would have been like if Vince had been there. It probably would have been easier. After all, the team had been me, Cloud and Barret. Cloud was lame, Barret couldn't aim straight because the ship was pitching, and I was seasick as a dog.

Putting aside both my Vinnie fantasies and my urgent need to retch over the railings, I actually started to explore the ship- partially because I was bored, partially to check that Jenovah wasn't chilling below deck, and partially because I thought that the deck would look better if it was the colour of pavement pizza.

The breeze that curled up from the ocean and through my tank and shorts combo was obnoxiously cold. There's a reason that Costa Del Sol is a beach resort and Wutai isn't. And trust me, it ain't because my dad didn't try it. The sun shone lazily, but the clouds moved lazily too. And there are a lot more clouds than there are suns, so the temperature was still just as icy as Vinny's love life. It was, in short, a sucky day.

When I checked below deck, there were no silver haired gimps, no mutant killing machines and no whistling sailors.

Oh, wait. That's another point. I _know_ that I've got great legs. They're been attached to my ass for, like, years, and they haven't so much as suffered a flat tire. I do _not_ need every sailor on the damn ship to tell me about them.

Anyway, the only things below deck were boxes. Lots of boxes. I opened one or two, and they didn't even have anything interesting in them. Just a bunch of WRO issue machine-guns. I woulda been happy if they'd been carrying crateloads of handheld games consoles, but no. They had to be guns. I lost interest, and went to annoy Vinny again.

Vinny was leaning on the railing at the stern, his cloak fluttering in the wind. He only looked a little bit epic. I would have looked so much better, frankly.

"Hey. Don't throw yourself off the ship, okay Vince? I wouldn't jump in to save you, so you'd have to swim to Rocket Town." I joked.

"Hn. It's hard to swim with a metal arm, Yuffie." he said, the corners of his mouth doing a stupid, half-assed twitch.

"Really? On second thoughts, jump. If you sink, you might be able to kill a few of these mutant monster turtles that you and Reeve are PMSing about."

"Perhaps." he said, twitching again. Weirdo.

"You could take some of the machine guns from the hold, and have yourself a real good time down there."

Have you ever seen a goat fall off a mountain into the headlights of a speeding car? That's what Vinny's face looked like.

"Machine guns? What? This is a civilian transporter ship, Yuffie." he said, his eyes narrowing.

"Then why's it got boxes of WRO heavy artillery in the hold?"

"...WRO make, too?"

"Yeah. Tons of 'em. Just like Reeve to send us on a crate with the rest of the cargo, huh?" I yawned. Why was Vinnie making such a big deal of this? It was his boss, after all.

Vince wasn't listening. Instead, he was thinking. Now, I've gotta say that, even though normally he looks like a caped emo-goth, Vinny has a pretty nice thinking face. He closes his eyes so they're the tiniest bit open, relaxes those angry lookin' eyebrows, and then (and this is the most shocking bit) _develops facial expressions._ I know, I know.

In all seriousness, though, it's actually way easier to see what's going on in Vinny's head when he's thinking. He doesn't seem to realise how much his face moves, or the strange way he manages to frown when he's concerned about something. I never miss a chance to watch Vinny think.

"Yuffie. Have you noticed anything else that's strange about this ship?" he asked suddenly, his eyes shooting open.

I looked back over my memories of the day. Apart from the fact that they now had a fat streak of my breakfast painted down the side of the hull, nothing that unusual. Except...

"I haven't seen anyone all day." I said, my stomach taking a swoop.

"Exactly. This is a civilian transport. There were three other families that got on with us." he frowned.

I considered calling him on the 'other families' thing (since when was I related to Vinny? Unless, like, he was my real father or something. That'd be cool. I'd love to see Vince try to dance at a wedding), but decided to let it slide.

"Yeah. Plus, the crew have been kinda weird...They offered us free food in the canteen as soon as we got on." I mused, my hand going to my chin. Bad hand.

"...Wait. You didn't eat any?" he asked, his eyebrows raising.

"Hey, watch it, Vinny! Are you saying that I can't resist food if I want to? You calling me fat?" I snarled. He shook his head, completely unapologetic. Whore. "For your information, Mr. Diet Manager, I didn't eat anything because I knew I was gonna be seasick anyways."

"Hmph. And I haven't eaten, either. But the other three families..."

"Took the offer. I remember the crew were being really pushy about it..." I tailed off. My stomach took another flying leap. Vinny was right; something was really wrong here.

"Actually, the crew have been bothering me all day." I confessed. "Kept following me around, saying I have nice legs...I thought it was just sailors being sailors, but..."

"Indeed." he said, bristling. What, 'indeed' I have nice legs, or 'indeed' the crew is being weird? Clarify, Vinners.

"The crew has been occupying my vicinity all day, too."

Bitch. Just because you wish you had legs this good. That way, you'd actually look sexy in those leather trousers. Betcha want my shorts, too. And one of my bras to put your moobs in. Oh, wait. Y'already _tried_ to steal one of my bras, didn't ya? Stupid Vince.

"Hmph. I had my suspicions, but the contents of the cargo confirms them." he snarled in a way that only Vince can snarl. "Yuffie. Go to the cabin. Pretend you're sick. Stay there. I'm going to investigate."

And with that, he strode off, leaving me no time for argument.

This may shock you (I know it shocked me) but this time, I actually did what I was told. I went back to the cabin, and made lots of moaning noises, and pretended to throw up. (Well, most of it was pretend. Kernel of truth in the lie, right?)

And the reason I did it was because frankly, Vince is crazy. He's insane. He's got a shotgun. And I don't care how many sailors team up to sing 'In The Navy'- they will not be able to take him down. However, I am Yuffie, and I am only a little bit crazy. And I was seasick. And I don't like being shot up with machine guns. So, I decided to stay in my cabin, and trust that Vince would handle it.

This was a very stupid thing to do, because it ignored the number one lesson that life has taught me, and which has been reaffirmed by Cloud, Barret, Sephiroth, my dad, Reno, Reeve, the guy who owns my corner shop, and now Vince. The lesson is this:

Men can't do anything right. (For the record, Cid can use expletives right. But Cid's not a man, he's a god, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise).

In light of that, I really shouldn't have been that surprised when I heard the staccato drone of machine guns sound from somewhere deep in the belly of the ship. But, I was. After a half a second delay in which Vincent could have been killed seven times over, I leapt off the bed, grabbed my waruitori, and prepared myself for the second half of what was already turning out to be a _really_ bad day.

* * *

A/N: Well, sorry for the delay...Again. After being busy for ages, I finally managed to grab enough time to sit down and really work on this. Personally, I think this chapter came out rather well. I shouldn't be too busy for a while now, so I can speed up writing this again.


	8. Boats Suck

_Chapter Seven: Boats suck. Fact.

* * *

_

I rushed along the corridor. Well, maybe not rushed. Kinda speed-walked. Y'see, I was trying to think of a plan. Now, plans and Yuffie Kisaragi don't really go together well, but I was seasick and on a boat, which is just about as vulnerable as I get. And no way in hell was I going into a cargo hold full of sailors with machine-guns without some sort of advantage.

Luckily, my inner ninja was currently enjoying some uber-mojo, so I followed what it told me. And it told me to steal everything that wasn't nailed down. Which led me to an interesting discovery whilst I was rapidly ransacking the ship of anything that might be useful.

The three families that had boarded with us were gone.

I peeked into each room in turn, and each room looked like it had never been touched. Dust mouldered on the bedsheets. Objects were conspicuously missing. And I'm not sure, but I may have seen a couple of spiders tap dancing outside the porthole.

What this meant was that there was nothing I could steal to help Vinnie. And that another few minutes, in which Vinnie could have been riddled with as many holes as his cloak, had elapsed. The icy hold of panic gripped me, and I searched desperately for something, _somewhere_, that I could use to help Vince make sure that the dead in undead wasn't literal.

With that in mind, I entered the captain's cabin.

Jackpot.

The ship's helm was literally _full_ of interesting crap. Honestly, whoever the captain was before the ship got taken over by weirdo sailors must've been a real sea dog. There were telescopes, with little engravings in the mahogany, a big ol' cabinet chock full of smoking paraphernalia, a chair so comfy that I still wish I'd stolen it, and nautical doo-dads nailed to the walls everywhere. But those weren't the best things.

The best thing was the cabinet full of vintage whisky. Alcoholic sea captains- gotta love 'em, right?

I opened the cabinet, and took out a bottle. It sloshed pleasingly with the movement of the ship, and bottle had been dyed chocolate brown. I looked around shiftily (why? I don't know, the only people on board were probably more interested in their gunfight than me snaffling the captain's booze), and popped the top off. It smelt...well, pretty much exactly like Cid, actually. It was slightly worrying to think that the old man was flying an airship if he smelt like whisky.

I was indecisive for a moment (damn seconds! Keep living, Vince!), but eventually I broke into a smile. No guarantee that I'd live through the gunfight. And if I was gonna die, may as well die happy, right?

With that it mind, I began to drink.

* * *

I wandered towards the cargo hold. It'd been a full twenty minutes since I'd heard the first gunshots, and in that twenty minutes I'd achieved nothing. Well, I was a little drunker than when I started, but that's not really an achievement. I held a full bottle in my right hand as I stumbled down the steps.

Walking was starting to get very difficult indeed. The ship was pitching too much, I thought. Or maybe I was drunker than I thought I was. Who cared? I was gonna have myself a big ol' gunfight! Fun, fun, fun! I'd shoot 'em, and then shoot 'em a little more, and then maybe Vince'd shoot 'em, and we'd win!

The closer I got to the cargo hold, the louder the noise of gunshots grew. The juddery shots followed by the chinking of metal were the sailors and their little toys, and the huge chk-chk-booms were Vince. Sounded like there were ten or so sailors down there. I wasn't scared. I had Dutch courage, all stored up in the bottle I was holding, ready for use.

When I finally entered the cargo hold, it was dark, and full of smoke. Vince had shot out the lightbulbs. Good tactic. Vince was in black and the sailors were in white, so he'd have the upper hand. I saw the muzzles of guns flash, briefly illuminating faces that were twisted with some false perception of power. I huffed audibly. Stupid men, thinking guns made them powerful. Vince was powerful even without guns.

My audible huff- and the fact that I was standing in a lit hallway facing a darkened room- immediately alerted the sailors to my presence. A volley of bullets started to stream my way. The ship pitched, and I was on the floor, bullet-holes above my head. Lucky escape. I heard a chk-chk-boom, and whoever fired at me went down hard. Streams of bullets started to issue towards where the shotgun had fired from, but there was no-one there anymore. Vincent in the dark is nigh-untouchable.

I, however, am not untouchable. No amount of Dutch courage can help if it's all spilling out of that newly-acquired bullet wound in your stomach. As my drink-addled mind finally acknowledged the fact, I realised what incredible danger I was in.

_Frick._

Everything was fast. I was slow. Bullets ricochetted off railings. I stumbled forwards. Crates shook. Impact. Vinnie? No, flash of white. Sailor. Smoke everywhere. Why was it cold? The floor was moving. I was moving. Noise echoing. The clank of boots on metal floors. Desperate cursing. It was coming from me. Wet floor. The scent of heated copper. Blood. Movements, shuffling. Duck, Yuffie. _Duck!_ Holes everywhere. Drifting scent of gunpowder. An almighty explosion. Choking gurgle. Someone swears. Cracking. Metal groaning under impact. A shift. The sea is roaring. My legs don't work. Grasp, haul, crawl. Don't stop moving. Death and lead in the air. Hot cold hot cold hot. No time. Collapse. Chaos, anarchy, disruption. Every muscle aches. What's going on? Darkness. I'm not afraid of the dark. Everything's dark. I can't see. Can't hear. I taste iron. Roaring, endlessly. Someone's screaming. Panic, fear. Someone's screaming. Is it me? _Is it me?_

Silence.

I started to shiver, uncontrollably. Sweat was streaming down me. There was blood on my clothes, but it wasn't mine. I didn't know where I was, or how I'd gotten there. Everything was blurred. I leaned back. Crate. I'd taken cover. Good idea, Inner Ninja. My bottle was still in my hand, unharmed. At least I still had Dutch courage. Everything was in shadow. The sound of my own breathing, even my own thoughts, seemed to echo loudly around the maze of crates.

I wanted to cry.

What was _wrong _with me? I was supposed to be a ninja. I'd been in far more danger than this before, and yet here I was, on the point of collapse, shivering and biting back sobs that would reveal my position and get me killed. Where had all my strength gone? What had happened to my fearlessness? Where was my skill? Had they gone up in flames, just like my house? Run away from me, like I'd run away from my village? Or were they just hiding from me, like Vince was hiding from the sailors, afraid to make one false move in case they were obliterated in the blink of an ey-

A hand clamped around my wrist. I drew breath to scream (stupid Yuffie, what would screaming do, except make Vincent come running and probably get shot?) but another hand shot over my mouth before I could make any sound. I tried to bite down hard, and felt metal grate against my teeth.

"Yuffie. It's me." a pair of red eyes said from the darkness.

I fell apart.

Before I realised what I was doing, I had my head buried in his cloak, tears streaming down my eyes. I bit down on his mantle to make sure we weren't located, but also to prevent him hearing me as I cursed myself, my luck, and every mistake I'd ever made. I cursed my dad for being so goddamn annoying, my mom for upping and dying on me when I was little, and my friends- Cloud, Cid, Teef, Red, _everyone_- because they weren't _here, _protecting me, like they had when we faced Sephiroth. I especially cursed Vincent and Reeve, for getting me into this entire mess, and dragging me into this murky world where no one knew what was going on.

Vince's arms closed around me.

I remembered the 'hug' he'd given me in the hotel. (I knew it'd come back to haunt me). That time, he'd been unsure. Hesitant. He didn't know what he was doing.

This time, there was certainty. There was strength and protection. Here, in the dark and the smoke and the blood, here was where Vincent Valentine belonged, here was where he knew what he was doing.

I remember wrapping my hand in his hair, like a little child. Long, wild and irresistibly black. My mother's hair, but not my mother's hair.

Eventually, his stillness and the stone circle of his arms calmed me. The racking shivers of fear were gone, replaced by the smaller, less theatrical shivers of nervousness. My eyes dried, and I could see clearly again. We broke apart.

"Hmph...I told you not to come." he said. I realised his intent.

"Yeah...I was kinda worried when the machine-guns started going off, though." I smiled. Talk, Yuffie. It keeps you calm. No, not talk, but whisper.

"When we get to Rocket Town, I'm going to have to insist you take some bed rest at Cid's house." he whispered back, dark but warm.

"Pah. He'll never let me. He keeps his tar sticks in the spare room." I joked back. The shivers lessened. My bravado was ebbing back with the jokes.

"You're aware that Shera wants him to stop smoking? If he still has cigarettes in the room, we can use the information as a bargaining tool." he said. I grinned. Nothing like a bit of blackmail to cheer up a ninja.

I heard shuffling again. It was the sound of the sailor's boots. Me and Vince decided unanimously to stay silent as they moved. After five seconds, I'd pinpointed where they were and how many. Six, in a big huddle, on the other side of our crate.

"They're sounding us out. They won't move until we do. I took down too many of them, so they're being cautious..." Vince said, in his lowest whisper.

As I listened, I grew consciously aware of the weight of the bottle in my hand. I grinned. I could use a little Dutch courage right about now.

"Y'know, Vince, this reminds me of Cecil and Rosa." I said, offhand. I winked in the blackness, to tell him to play along.

"Cecil and Rosa? The movie about the two outlaws in love who go down in a blaze of glory?" he asked. Damn, he's good. I saw his eyebrow twitch at the 'blaze of glory' bit. He obviously wasn't planning on dying.

"Yeah. I'll be...uh, which one's the woman, again?" I asked, holding the bottle up so he could see it. His other eyebrow twitched.

"Rosa. Rosa is a girl's name." he whispered. Something in his voice seemed to seethe at my (assumed) drunkenness.

"Well, hell. I always thought they were using their second names."

"They had the same second name. They were married."

I pondered that one. Marriage seemed to be following me around as a topic these days.

"Go figure. Well, to us, Vince. Cecil and Rosa." I said, lifting the bottle.

"Cecil and Rosa." he dead-panned, an indescribably grim expression on his face. Something told me I was messing with his head.

Imagine how surprised he was when, instead of drinking from the bottle, I tore off my bandanna and stuffed it into the bottle so that a frayed edge hung out when I put the cap back on. And imagine his even greater surprise when I pulled out a lighter and set it on fire.

I think he'd twigged my intent when I twisted around the corner and threw it into the mass of waiting sailors, though.

My improvised incendiary (see? I can use big words, too) hit the mark immediately. As soon as the bottle broke, it was as if I'd released an Ifrit, and six white sailor suits suddenly became orange with flames. I ducked back around the corner, trying to blot out the screams. I was doing a pretty good job, until Vinnie grabbed one of my arms. This yanked my finger out of my ear with an painful pop. I was about to yell at him about it (the little bitch), but before I could he'd scooped me off my feet and was carrying me under his arm as he ran away.

"Vince, what the hell're you doing? We got them!" I shouted.

"If I'd known you were going to do that, I would have stopped you." he growled.

"Why? Because I was in danger of getting shot up?" I pouted. Something about Vince being worried made me want to grin.

"No. I would have stopped you because any idiot could have seen you'd set the crate on fire, too."

It took me a few seconds to catch what he was thinking. In that time, he'd ran three corridors. Vinnie could be the next world record holder for the hundred meter stride.

"So, wait. You think the boat's going to burn down?" I asked, my voice reaching a higher pitch than absolutely necessary. Stupid voice. "But...it can't burn down. It's a ship. Ships go on water."

Vince turned and shot me a filthy look. I'm surprised he didn't just stuff me into a bin and escape by himself.

"We also need to evacuate the rest of the families." he growled, in a sort of Yuffie-you-damn-fool-what-have-you-gotten-me-into-oh-but-I-can't-say-this-out-loud-like-a-_normal_-person-so-I'll-just-growl-like-a-rabid-idiot kind of way.

"Actually, I checked the cabins. It's like they were never there. I couldn't find them on ship." I piped up. And with that, the prospect of rescuing innocent people popped straight out of Vinnie's head. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Capeman, the least morally involved superhero since The Magnificent Infant Kicker.

There was, I admit, a rising sense of panic as we shot toward the lifeboats. As well as a rising wave of vomit. What a crappy time for me to remember that I was seasick.

The vomit I could deal with, but the panic only increased when we got to the lifeboats. Or, rather, the spaces where the lifeboats should've been.

"Vinnie, someone jacked our ride." I said, helpfully. Meanwhile, Vinnie was looking for other lifeboats.

"This ship had four lifeboats this morning." he muttered, racing towards the stern where another lifeboat was supposed to be stationed. It wasn't.

He ran, and I smelled smoke. Part of me still didn't believe that boats could be on fire, but as soon as I caught the first orange glow casting itself across the deck, I believed. I still don't believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny or the theory that Vincent Valentine possesses working genitals, but I believe that boats can catch fire.

"Yuffie, we're in luck." Vince growled.

On the entire ship, there was one lifeboat. And it was on the other side of the ship that we started on. Coincidence sucks. Anyway, long story short, we ended up bobbing around on the Wutaian sea in a boat which may or may not have been bigger than Barret's shoes.

"Yuffie, look." Vince said, his metal hand still closed around my arm. I did look.

The cruiser that was supposed to take us to Rocket Town was now a funeral pyre, a will o' wisp of fire that stood atop the merciless seas. Fire was scary, but against the vast might of the sea, it stood no chance. The ship finally succumbed to the fire, and the fire, like a parasite, died with it, as the wreckage sank below the surface of the water.

I felt something inside me change as I watched the display. I didn't know what it was, but something within me felt better, more solid, more reliable. I would realise, a long time later, that my reverence of the water had only increased, and my distrust of ships with it. But I would also realise that in the face of those fears, the memory of my house warping under the flame's might no longer had any weight.

"So, Yuffie." It was Vince, interrupting my moment. Gawd, never thought he'd be the one to break a comfortable silence. "Catch."

The tiny lifeboat rocked as I fell backwards. I looked at the object now lying on my chest. It was an oar.

That little whore.

"Hey, Vince! What happened to bed rest? What happened to us blackmailing Old Man Cid? What happened to Cecil and Rosa?" I fumed.

"Hmph. Cecil and Rosa, going down in a 'blaze of glory' indeed. Poetic justice, I think." he smirked, with the same cruel sense of satisfaction that I sometimes saw on my face in the mirror after a really big prank.

"Yes, yes, I burnt the boat. So what?" I pouted. Living with Vincent Valentine all day was really starting to suck.

"That boat was the only evidence we had of misplaced WRO weaponry. Without it, Reeve can't do a thing. He'll still believe us, but he can't officially help."

Destroying the evidence, huh? That's always been a bad habit of mine.

After a few minutes, the silence in the S.S. Shoe was unbearable. Captain (or should that be First Mate? No way am I letting him be the captain!) Cape broke it, in yet another screwy move. Sometimes, I think he does it just to mess with my head.

"How did you get the materials to construct a molotov? And why were you drunk?"

Ah, time to explain the master plan to the mere mortals. Well, to Vinnie. He's not exactly mere, and he definitely isn't mortal, so...uh...Time to explain the master plan.

"The captain's cabin. He had a liquor cabinet and a ton of smoking stuff- like Cid, really. I emptied the petrol from his lighters into a bottle. And, of course, I had to empty the bottle first, and there's no reason to let good booze go to waste..."

He pressed his hand to his forehead and said nothing, leaving me to carry on the 'conversation'.

"Uh...Well...Hey, a few of those lighters were from companies that use the oil Barret drills. Small world, huh? I also took some of his fine tobacco to bribe Cid with, and..."

"Yuffie. Just start rowing." he winced, picking up an oar himself.

"Why? Why can't you just row? I'm a high-born lady of Wutai, and one who's just recently survived trials no other lady would have to, like wearing your gimp suit and being shot at and being on a boat." I pouted.

"Because. It gets very cold at sea, Yuffie, and if we stay around too long, we may die from hypothermia." Vince said. Spoilsport.

And so, with the brilliance of my inner ninja's uber mojo. I came up with a completely awesome plan.

A plan which began with the simple act of poking Vincent on the nose. He didn't respond, so I did it again. And again. And again. It was pretty fun. And again. He grabbed my hand.

"Yuffie. What are you doing?" he said, with accompanying killer death glare. No killer death this time.

"Trying to see if I can get Galian Beast to come out to play. I bet he'd be an awesome oar-thing." I grinned.

"You could have just asked." he growled.

"I know." I grinned.

About thirty seconds later, a roar echoed across the boundless sea. And we started to move towards Rocket Town so fast that I forgot about my seasickness. I still threw up, though.

* * *

A/N: Phew. Well, this was a rather offbeat chapter in the story; it's almost all action and emotional development. Yuffie's current predicament, as well as her previous trials, are bound to have some psychological impact, and it's starting to tell. A return to comedy is in order for next chapter, though- with Cid around, can it be anything else? I'm still not sure I'm entirely pleased with this chapter, but up it goes, and I hope you enjoy it.

On a side note, there are a lot of tangents in this chapter. One of which was the whole Cecil and Rosa thing. For those who don't know, Cecil and Rosa are the main characters of Final Fantasy IV- Cecil starts as a black knight, whereas Rosa is a white mage. They have a little bit of a romance going on. In this chapter, I used them as a cameo- really, I wanted to use Bonnie and Clyde, who fit the image I wanted much better. But I wasn't sure about the whole 'Bonnie and Clyde in FFVII world', plus Cecil and Rosa gives FFIV a nice little mention. So, there's the reasoning behind _that_.


	9. Rocket Town, Elton Style

_Chapter Eight: Rocket Town, burning out the fuse up here alone

* * *

_

Everyone has their own comfort blanket- that one thing in the world which makes you forget all your fears, all your troubles and all your PIN numbers for just a brief second. My dad's was always Geisha girls, particularly if he thought they were going commando (and most of his geisha girls _always _went commando. No panty lines there, folks). Vinnie's is shepherd's pie (made from 100% free range shepherds.) And mine? Mine is a good slanging match with Captain Ciddles. Needless to say, I was looking forwards to our arrival in Rocket Town.

It didn't particularly matter, though. By the time we arrived at Rocket Town it was pitch black, and looking forwards did no frickin' good. Honestly, I couldn't have seen in that darkness if I'd sellotaped a bat to my head and listened to the sonar.

But, as me and Captain Cape trudged the final few steps into the entrance of the town (honestly, we had to land the boat on the goddamn beach. I mean, even Wutai got a port. Why not Rocket Town? And where exactly was that cargo ship gonna dock, anyways?) I saw something that was both familiar and spooky at the same time.

A small dot of orange was hovering in the night air, minding its own business. Well, trying to. The little dot of orange was being attacked by moths. It looked like some sorta weird bug-god, or a ghost or something. As we approached even closer, the dot of orange eventually succumbed to the fury of the moths, and dropped to the ground.

Everyone salute that poor, brave dot. He died doing what he loved. Burning to death on the hard, stone floor.

"What in the name of hell? I thought you two clowns were supposed to arrive tomorrow!"

I immediately ran up and hugged where the dot had been. I hit something that smelled of booze, sweat and prostitutes. Yup, definitely Cid.

"Hey, Squirt." he said, ruffling my hair in the darkness. "You gone through puberty yet?"

I heard Vincent make an embarrassed cough in the background. I ignored him. For the next five minutes, Cid's ass was mine.

"I don't know, ratbag. Has cancer caused your testicles to drop off yet?"

"Pfft. Still the same as ever, ain't ya, brat? You're never gonna get laid. You know what would help you? A tan, and maybe grow some ti-"

"You know what'd help you get laid? A nice big bottle of chloroform."

"Least it'd shut Shera up. Goddamn PMS."

At this point, Vincent felt obliged to make a comment. I ignored it, but sadly the Great And Mighty Cid has not yet learned to ignore the wishes of the heathen masses.

"Shera? PMS? Tan? I appear to be missing something here." Vince said in his most exhausted tone. I could almost see him pressing his hand to his forehead in the blackness.

"PMS, Vincent. It's when your woman gets cranky after her period." Cid explained.

"Yeah. Y'know what a period is, right? It's when blood comes from a woman's _vagina._" I said, making sure to whisper the last word right in his goddamn ear.

"Don't tell him that, kid! If he thinks there's blood coming outta your crotch, the damn vamp might start rootin' around for it." Cid laughed, with a smoker's wheeze in his voice. "Mind you, that's one way to get your pasty ass laid."

"Get lost, asswipe. If you thought we were gonna arrive tomorrow, why were you waiting here today? You getting' senile in your old age?" I retorted.

"For your information, I was sneaking a frickin' cigarette. Honestly, it starts getting real weird when a man can't smoke in his own goddamn house anymore." Cid wheezed.

"Oh, when a man can't do it? Sexist pig. I oughta get Vinnie to whip you for that. I'm pretty sure he always carries one, just in case he has to attend to official S and M duties." Once again, the comment completely passed Vinnie by. I think he just gave up on life. About time, really.

As we unanimously decided to stroll to Cid's house whilst arguing loud enough to wake the entire town, the conversation moved on to other, more topical areas.

"So, brat. You grown any boobs yet?" Cid asked, matter of factly. I like that about him- he can make even the purest bullcrap sound like it's completely normal.

"You'd have to ask Vinnie, old man." I smirked. This ought to be fun.

"Whaaaaaat? Honestly, what the hell? You better be joking, brat." Cid growled. Gawd, sometimes I wish he'd been my dad instead of Godoh. He's way better at this kinda stuff.

"Vince, tell him my cup size." I grinned, poking Captain Cape in the arm.  
"Yuffie, we've had this discussion. I do not know your cup size. In fact, I'm not completely cognisant of what a cup size denotes. It has been an long time since I purchased a receptacle for a woman." Vince said, trying to smooth the situation over. Fat chance, buster. No one stops Yuffie Kisaragi from dropping them into trouble.

"What, you didn't note it down when you were fingering my bra? Gawd, Vince. What kind of man are you?" I smirked.

"Hold up, brat. Vincent was fingering your bra? What in the name of hell?" Cid erupted. Bingo. Now to watch the fireworks. "We all know you don't need a bra. Now I know yer lyin'. Besides, if there's one thing I can say for the Vamp, it's that he's got taste. No way is he droolin' after a piece of jailbait like you."

This is proof, people. Cid Highwind beat Yuffie Kisaragi in an argument. He is therefore a Shiny Golden God, and you should all bow down and worship him in the hopes that he doesn't take his big spear and ram it where you don't want it rammed.

Eventually, we ended up seated in Cid's kitchen. For me, it always felt cosy- kind of like my house, actually. It had machine parts scattered everywhere instead of shuriken, but it was still scruffy and unkempt and I loved it.

"Yuffie, you're a woman. Get us some tea." Cid said easily, settling into a creaking chair. He immediately put his feet on the table. Gawd, why is this man not my dad?

"I'm a woman now? You just spent fifteen minutes telling me I have no boobs and I haven't gone through puberty." I pouted. "If you want tea, make Vincent get his man-breasts out so he can do it."

"Vamp, get your man-breasts out and make us some goddamn tea." Cid said indulgently. What can I say? Bullying Vince is a national pastime.

For the next fifteen seconds, Vincent shot me a very careful, appraising look. He didn't move, didn't talk. Just sat there, looking at me, as if doing calculations. Cid started bawling for tea, but Vinnie ignored him. Just looked at me. It was...weird.

With a final sigh, he dropped his shoulders and said, with the utmost dignity and elegance, "B-Cup, Yuffie. Make the tea."

For one horrible moment, the entire world stopped. It was as if the planet itself needed to digest the knowledge that Vincent Valentine, He Of The Irrepressible Frown, had made a joke. About my chest. In order to get out of making tea.

Then Cid used his Shiny Golden God powers to restart the world and burst out laughing.

"_Whaaaaat_? You made that up, Vince!" I spat, jabbing him with my finger. "I'm a C-cup! C!"

"Pfft! I don't know what frickin' alphabet you learned, brat. I think A's what you're looking for. Now make the goddamn tea!"

I have one thing to say: Vincent Valentine, you are going to die, and you're going to die in the most humiliating way possible. You're gonna get raped to death by some big macho unicorn, and I'm going to film it and put it on the internet.

"So. Why're you two in town so soon? You were due tomorrow." Cid asked, after throwing about ninety billion cups of tea down his gullet.

"Ship burned down." I said, as if it were a routine occurance.

"What? Ships don't burn down, you dumb brat." Cid laughed.

"A small proviso, Cid: Ships do not burn down unless Yuffie creates an improvised incendiary device to burn them down with." Vince said, shooting me a death glare.

"So you burned down your own frickin' ship? You two really are a pair of clowns."

"For your information, Captain Cancer, we almost died. In fact, we were so scared of dying that we got married on the ship." I sniffed. Cid's jaw dropped.

"Why was _I_ not informed of this, Yuffie?" Vincent growled.

"Well, all I can say is that _one_ of us was a little bit drunk." I smirked. Kernel of truth. "Besides, Cecil and Rosa, right?"

Cid reached over and punched Vince jokingly on the arm. Unfortunately, he picked the arm that was covered in metal. As Vince tried not to laugh and Cid swore like a woman in labour, I finally felt...well, home. There, in Cid's crappy little kitchen, listening to the two guys play Punch and Judy (I won't tell you who was Judy), it was as if everything was alright with the world.

It wasn't.

For one, there was the all the conspiracy business going on. I mean, people out to whack Vince and me? Well, that _never _happens, now does it? And then there were all the dumbass mutated monsters that I was supposed to be going around murdering, and which Reeve wouldn't tell me a damn thing about. I was still exiled from my village, and I was still technically being held held hostage by Sir Steeltoes. Not to mention that I was kinda feeling guilty for burning down a ship full of sailors. Evil sailors, I admit, but y'know.

All this paled in comparison to the fact that Shera had just walked into the room.

Shera was wearing a pink dressing gown, had very messy bed hair, and had huge bags under her eyes. More importantly, she was wearing white fluffy bunny slippers.

For all the guys out there, let me tell you a secret. You do _not_ mess with a woman who has fluffy bunny slippers. They may look all cute and cuddly, but those slippers are a secret code that says 'I mean business, jacko, and I will break out my woman-kung-fu on your ass'. Fluffy bunny slippers are a signpost to evil, guys, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Vince and Cid hadn't noticed. I thought for a second about following that great ninja tradition and getting the hell out of dodge, but women with bunny slippers can run at approximately three bajillion miles per hour and can throw punches that register 10.9 on the Falconmeter. So, I decided to simply melt into the scenery and avoid drawing attention to myself.

"_Cid Highwind_. What on Earth are you doing sitting in the kitchen with guests at three o' clock in the morning?" Shera asked, her voice strained. Ask not for whom the bell tolls, Cid...

"The brat and the Vamp got in early, and I met 'em at the entrance to town. Uh, Dear." he said as an afterthought.

"And what exactly were you doing at the entrance to town at that hour?" she asked. Cid shot me a glare that said to shut my goddamn mouth. For once, I went along with it.

"The fault lies with me, Miss Shera." Vince broke in, standing up. "I telephoned Cid, so as to affirm our location and our arrival; I did not think he would get up so early to meet us."

I have to admit, I resigned myself then to the fact that Vincent was a total dumbass. Cid could've taken the punishment- he was probably used to it. But Vinny was all meek and dark and feeble. He would be crushed by Shera's womanly might.

"So. You woke Cid, at an ungodly hour, just to tell him where you were. When there was no reason to do so, because you didn't think he'd do anything about it." she said. I could practically hear her blood pressure going up. And the second she opened up her big guns, Vinnie was gonna die in terrible pain. I had to do something.

"Hey, Autie Shera. Where's your whip?" I asked, brightly.

"...What?"

Oh yeah, baby. Mission successful. Distraction tactics are always full of victory. I coulda done it easier by just ripping off Vinnie's clothes (and I could have gotten some primo blackmail material, too), but this worked just as well.

"So, back to business, Captain Asswipe." I said, turning back to Cid. "We're gonna be in town for a few days, due to the fact that Reeve and Vince are kidnapping me and forcing me to use my awesome ninja skills to bust some monster ass. Can we crash here? Hell, we'll sleep in your car if need be."

"Yeah right, you crazy brat. I don't have a car, I have a _goddamn_ airship with a big frickin' bikini babe painted on the side. And _I _live in that. You'll sleep in the goddamn house, punk." Again, I'm electing this guy as my dad. And as king, too.

"Ugh. You spoil that girl too much, Cid." Shera sighed, wagging her finger.

Hold up there, woman. 'That girl'? You may be wearing fluffy bunny slippers, but I'm a frickin' ninja, and I will hang from the ceiling and strangle you with my legs. Don't think I won't. In fact, I might strangle Vince first, just for practice.

"Pfft. The brat's lived through Sephiroth, Deepground, and living with Vamp over there for more than three days. You think anything _I _can do will screw her up more than she already has been?"

A side note for all you Vinny-watchers: he was confused. He's always confused. Gawd, I'm glad he's not a character in an RPG, otherwise we'd all be shot up just for being in his party.

Anyway. To cut a long story short (again), Shera crumbled against the combined might of the Grand Master Ninja, Yuffie 'Rosa' Kisaragi, and the Shiny Golden God, Cid 'Bikini Babe' Highwind. So, we ended up sleeping at Cid's house. As Vince joined Cid and Shera to hammer out the details of our stay, I got left alone in the house to think.

It was weird, in a way. Cid had changed since I'd last seen him. Not much, but still. His smoker's wheeze was more pronounced, his walk was more shambling, and he was even fonder of his precious tea. I didn't like it, but it was still happening. Cid was getting old.

Godoh wheezed as well. Godoh couldn't walk properly anymore either, and he'd happily bathe in tea all day. Cid was becoming just like my old man. It was weird, but somehow the comparison didn't make Cid any less to me. It just made Godoh more. Maybe, when I was a kid and I can't remember it, he could have been as awesome as Cid was. Well, no, he couldn't because no one was as awesome as Cid, but he could have been pretty awesome. I mean, he was a ninja too, once upon a time.

And then there was Cid worrying over me. In his own rough way, he'd been looking out for me. He was concerned about how I was always single (how I never got laid, as he put it) and what I'd been through. He was concerned at how Vince was treating me.

In fact, I was worried about Cid, too. He was getting old, after all. And he smoked, and drove a freakin' huge airship (and if that isn't a heart attack risk, I don't know what is). I was scared for my friends.

Not just Cid. Vince, too. With his stupid healing ability, he could live ages after being shot up by sailors. Or bitten by four headed monster dogs. Just how often had he gotten himself hurt when he was looking out for me? Just how often had he hidden it for my piece of mind?

It was just like when I was cowering behind the crates, sobbing into Vinnie's mantle. The world seemed to be getting smaller, closing in on me, until I was the only one left. Until not even I was left, and the entire world was just a point in space, a tiny speck in a maelstrom of darkness, just like I'd seen on Bugenhagen's machine.

In truth, I didn't even feel like myself anymore. Whenever bad things happened to me, I used to laugh about it, make fun of it. Almost as if my jokes were a shield. But now, the jokes just weren't coming. I had to reach, to pull, to strain for them. Something was wrong. _I _was wrong.

As I stared at the flickering light and the tobacco stained ceiling, at the scattered machinery and the beat up kettle, at the crummy little table and the robust little chairs, Cid's house felt like home again. But it wasn't a good thing. Cid's house felt like home, and I felt like a stranger there.

Mentally, I slapped myself. _Come on, Yuff_. _You're bunking with Cid, for gawd's sake. This is gonna be fun on a goddamn bun. _

I thought about all of the awesome pranks I could play in this town. I could take Cid's underwear and ride them up the flagpole. I could secretly put Vinnie in one of Shera's dresses, and take pictures. I could provoke Shera's bunny slipper fuelled rage, and cack my pants laughing whilst she tore the guy's heads off.

It was weak, and I knew it. My inner ninja had used up all her ubermojo on the boat, and now I was tired and drained and worn out. I could only sleep, and hope I was better tomorrow.

I threw Vince's traveller's cloak (that thing was starting to come in pretty handy, actually. Wonder if I could dye it green?) on the floor, not wanting to disturb the bed- I was, in the awesome generosity of my own heart, giving that to Vince, seeing as he'd probably been shot up by sailors. Unfortunately, I forgot that he generally sleeps hanging upside down from the ceiling, like all the other filthy rabid vampire bats.

Snuggling down into the surprising warmth of his cloak, I was reminded once more of our 'moment' on the boat. Cecil and Rosa. You wish, Vince. You wish. With that on my mind to distract me from dreams of burning sailors, I slowly fell asleep.

* * *

A/N: Comedy comes mostly from dialogue in this chapter, and _not_ from Yuffie's snarky inner monologue. Shock horror! Still, I'm trying to make it realistic- it would be difficult for someone in Yuffie's state to keep making jokes, although she might try and maintain her image for other people.

Sorry for the (slight) lateness of this chapter. I got caught up in something else that didn't work out. I hope you guys enjoy it, nonetheless.


	10. Shatter

A/N: The Ballad Of The Gunslinger And The Cat, now with over 9000% more plot and emotion. Basically, this is _the_ serious chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Nine: Shatter

* * *

_

I woke up, and the first thing I knew was that Vincent Valentine was going to be murdered. And that I was going to be the one doing the murdering. I knew this because Shera was looking down at me with a concerned and motherly expression on her face.

After some shouting and screaming and a few waffles for breakfast, I got to the heart of the matter. He Who Should Really Jump Off A Cliff Already had told Cid about my little episode on the boat. Cid's fatherly sense tingled, and just like that, I was prohibited from leaving the house. Gawd. I'm a frickin' ninja, guys. So what if I was having a teeny-tiny emotional breakdown? I can still go to the goddamn shop without bursting into tears.

Not that being stuck in a house with Cid all day was all _that_ bad. He might stink like a horse, but the man knows how to entertain. He sat there, a pen in his mouth and his feet on the table, telling me how sure he was that Cloud and Tifa were having secret sex. He told me about how he'd caught a punk scribbling on the back of his garage, and how loudly the kid screamed when Cid hung him by the underwear from the Weapons Shop sign. And he told me about the time that the shop had run out of tea, and he'd had to go to Junon for a pack. (He also brought back some of Junon's famous whisky. I was planning on stealing it).

Eventually, though, he wanted to talk about me. And it didn't go well.

"So, brat. Vincent tells me that you ran away from Wutai. What the hell happened?" he asked gruffly. Shera was sitting in the background, listening in. All of a sudden, I felt claustrophobic.

"I had an argument with Dad. Nothing major." I smiled.

"Nothin' major? You got mixed up with Reeve and Vince, went monster hunting, and risked a burning ship over nothin' major? Give me some credit here, runt."

Crap! What happened to the kernel of truth rule? Were more of my epic ninja powers deserting me, or was Cid just more shiny and golden than I thought he was?

"Uh...Just drop it, okay? I don't wanna talk about it." I frowned. I was trying to play the 'I'm under bed rest on your orders, show some sympathy' card.

"Okay, kid. Next question: You broke Reeve's nose when last you saw him, but you're still doing his dirty work. Why?" he asked. There was something of a growl creeping in.

"Basically, they made me. I was gonna try and get over to Teef's and get a job in Edge or something, but I got cornered by monsters and Vince saved me and then I owed him and then Reeve came and now I'm Vinnie's hostage." I said, choking it out quickly. Unfortunately, Cid picked up on the _one_ thing I was hoping he didn't pick up on. Lousy jock-strap airship-monkey.

"Cornered by monsters? What, those wimpy Wutai things? You took down half of Deepground, kid. No way were you gonna get offed by some scrubs. 'Specially not since monsters have been getting' weaker lately." Now he was definitely getting angry. I needed to throw him off, or I'd actually have to tell him the truth.

"I left my weapon at home, y'know? I don't wear old-man slacks with massive pockets like you." My grin was fake; so was my confidence. I could almost hear the drop of sweat dripping down my scalp.

He got up, upending both the table and the chair that he'd been sitting on. Shera made a little noise, half-way between a sigh and a scream. There was metaphorical steam coming from Cid's ears, and as he paced towards his weapons rack, I almost thought he was gonna take out his spear and gut me with it. And gutted Yuffie is not as tasty as gutted salmon.

Instead, he rooted around on the table next to the rack, then threw something at me with a huff. It hit me in the face, flapping like an angry bird. I gulped, and looked down. It was a newspaper.

"Read the first page, Yuffie." Cid growled, deadly serious.

"Uh...Edge Broncos make the semi-finals in the Spira Cup?" I read. Maybe Cid really was going senile.

"Other side, runt."

"Oh." I muttered, flipping the newspaper over. What I saw made my heart sink. "Heir of Wutai denounced for attempt on the King's life. An arrest warrant has been issued on behalf of the Wutai State, and a reward of 1,000,000 gil has been issued. The King is currently in emergency care..."

Wait, what? A million gil? For my sexy little ass?

"Yer all over the frick'n news, runt. Newspapers, radio, TV, the whole schebang." he said, picking the chair up. He spat his pen out, put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, with the same dark style as one of those greasy private eyes you see in TV dramas. Shera looked at him disapprovingly, but realised that even fluffy bunny slippers wrath paled in comparison to the foulness of Cid's mood right now.

I busied myself looking at the paper. Today's date. Probably took my asswipe of a dad that long to decide how many of his middle names he was gonna put on the arrest warrant. He has, like, fifteen of the damn things.

"So, wait. You're putting yourself at risk by housing me?" I asked, the gears in my head whirring so loud I could hear them. I liked the sound. It distracted me from the creeping urge to be sick all over my shoes, the painful constriction of my heart and the gasping, desperate need of my lungs for _more air._

"Pah. I put myself in more danger flyin' my dang airship, and I do that every goddamn day." Cid sniffed. He hadn't denied it. My head was starting to get heavy.

"You...You don't have to put yourself at risk for me, y'old geezer. I'm a ninja, and...and..."

My breath hitched. What was I talking about? Ninja were supposed to be strong and tough and detached. Ninja didn't throw up or cry into Vinnie's cloak or crack up in the heat of battle. Ninja were always on the run from someone, always ready to be captured by enemies.

People always say that things 'hit them' at times like this. Nothing hit me. It crept across the floor like smoke, wafting up into my lungs and settling in my blood. It travelled like snake venom, silent and painful, to my brain.

I wasn't a ninja anymore. As soon as the thought came into my brain, I knew it was true. I could feel bits of myself falling away, the bits that I'd wrapped up in my identity as a ninja. The confidence, the bravery, the deep-seated belief that whatever happened I'd be okay- it all collapsed. And all I could do was stand and shiver.

"Who the hell do you take me for, Yuff?" Cid said, getting right up in my face and snapping me back to reality. My feet were on the ground, my hands were balled into fists, and Cid was as pissed as a scalded cat.

"I'm _Cid freaking Highwind_. You honestly think I'm gonna let them touch a goddamn hair on your goddamn head? You're as good as family to me, runt, and don't you forget it." His voice was suddenly soft, and I could feel his gloved hand in my hair. I couldn't say anything. After a second or so, Shera shifted up to Cid and laid a hand on his arm. He got the message, and drew away. They left the room, and all I could bring myself to do was sit on the floor.

I was still on the floor when Vince came in. I'd long forgotten how angry I was that he'd told Cid and Shera about the boat episode. I'd almost forgotten our friendly animosity. All I could remember was that he was Vince, and Vince never lets a girl down, even if he has to get back to them after being locked in coffins and stuff.

"Vinny. I'm in trouble, aren't I?" I asked. My voice didn't sound like me. He looked at me. He was so much taller than I was, even when we were both standing up, and now he seemed like a giant because I was on the floor and he was still standing. He had no choice but to look down on me.

"Yes, Yuffie. You are in trouble." he said. His voice, usually so smoky and dark and _Vinny-like_, was clear.

"What? You're supposed to be comforting and supportive and stuff." I pouted. Like a spoiled child. "Well, whatever. You're just...Just...fat."

"...Fat?" His eyebrow had raised.

"Yeah. We all know that the only reason you wear leather is to restrain your bingo wings, and once you take it off, you just flob out like a big ol'..uh...hecteyes." It shuddered, and I let it drop.

"...As I was saying, Yuffie, you _are_ in trouble, but it is not as serious as it appears." he went on, dropping to one knee. His hair fell in his eyes, and he brushed it away without even thinking about it.

"How? This is pretty much as bad as I've ever had it, Vinny." I had the urge to reach out and touch his cheek, just to check...but check what? I didn't know.

"Remember who you are."

I thought about it. I was Yuffie. Yuffie the Blank. Not Yuffie the White Rose of Wutai, because I'd been kicked out. Not Yuffie the ninja, because ninjas were so much more epic than I was. Just Yuffie the Blank. There was a perverse pleasure in it.

"You're a member of Avalanche, the group which helped save the world. Thrice. You were there at Sephiroth's defeat, there at the battle with the Weapon in Edge, and there in the war against Deepground." he went on. "You've got a reputation, Yuffie- as one of the most dangerous people on the planet."

"How does that help me, Vince? I'm _not _one of the most dangerous people on the planet. I'm all..." I protested. He ignored me.

"On top of that, you have a one-million-gil bounty, which is exactly the wrong price to put on your head."

"...How'd you work that out?" I asked.

"People will wonder why it's so high. And they'll associate reward with risk. Your reputation is dangerous, and you have a bounty reserved for the most dangerous criminals. Combine that with the fact that you're one of the saviours of the world, and not a lot of people are going to want to take this bounty. They'll either be too scared to pursue you, or they'll be on your side." he said, building momentum. When he put it like that, I felt a little better about it.

"On top of which, you've recently been seen travelling with another dangerous person- me. I'm a known ally, I'm highly trained, and I, too, have a reputation as being someone not to cross." he went on.

I couldn't resist breaking into a smile. I didn't feel all that useful at the moment, but I had Vince. Vince was practically un-killable, a lunatic and murderer. No one was gonna mess with him.

"You also have friends in high places, namely the Commissioner of the WRO. Reeve's battling your side in the legal arena, as well as in less-than-legal markets." Vince said, almost smiling at the last part.

Something occurred to me. Cid was normal, he'd asked right away. But Vince...

"Vince, how long have you known the truth? You never _did _ask me about why I ran away from Wutai."

He frowned. "From the day you ran off to hunt monsters. I called Reeve as soon as I found you, because there was obviously _something._ Reeve may be the arbiter of peace and rebuilding now, but do not forget that he was once king of spies; he worked his way into our group with nothing more than a robot and a stuffed moogle. He has sources in Wutai."

I groaned. And Vinny had been sparing my feelings all this time. Never had him down as Mr. Sensitive.

"As soon as he knew, he started making plans. One of the reasons we were forcing you to travel with me was so we could keep an eye on you. Reeve's the one circulating the reports of us travelling together to ward off bounty hunters." he explained.

I wanted to thank him for looking out for me, for putting himself in danger for my sake. For respecting my feelings about the whole thing by not telling me. But somehow, I just couldn't do it. The wan light falling from the kitchen's solitary lightbulb didn't even reach his face, and he just seemed so far away.

"Yuffie. You are in the best of hands. You are part of Avalanche, and we will allow no-one to harm you." Vince. We. He'd finally started to think of himself as one of the team. It almost made me smile. Vinny was gonna be all right. Looking back, I guess I was just distracting myself from my own troubles, but it still made me feel warmer inside.

His hair fell over his eyes again. I reached my hand out, and bridged that chasm between his dark face and me; I brushed his hair (so close to my mother's) away, allowing my fingers to linger on his cheek. I couldn't feel his skin through my numb fingertips, but it was okay. I leant my head forwards and rested it against his shoulder. I idly thought what a good pillow his mantle made.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of sizzling bacon. I was wrapped in Vinny's spare cloak again. He'd done it. I could tell, because it was awkwardly tight, as if he hadn't known what he was doing. Cid grumbled as he shuffled around the kitchen, flicking the switch for the kettle (I could already tell the difference between that and the other switches, due to the copious amounts of tea in Cid's crap-shack), buttering toast and doing something to make the bacon spit. Every so often, he'd break into a volley of subdued cursing. Good old Cid.

What I didn't expect was the sound of a plate being put right next to my head. Seconds later, it was followed by another clink and a splat. Cid swore again and walked away. I pulled my head out of Vince's coat and checked the tributes. I almost wished I hadn't. Cid may be a shiny golden god, but his eggs and bacon breakfast combo looks like a pile of crap. And the glass of OJ that he'd put down and spilled looked like it was fresh from the cement mixer.

Still, food's food, and breakfast in bed (or on the floor) is better than none at all. I pulled myself upright, looked around blearily, picked up the plate and put it on the table. Vincent and Shera were already sitting down, each of them with a plate of Cid's cooking and the cement OJ. Shera was already eating, but Vinny looked like he was wanted to shoot it, just to make sure it wasn't alive. Eventually Cid took his own plate and sat down. I'm pretty sure he was thinking of putting his feet on the table again, but Shera was shooting warning glances.

Actually, Cid's cooking wasn't that bad. It was just greasy enough to give you a feeling of guilty pleasure, without being so greasy that you threw it back up. As I shovelled mine in (table manners are for dorks and Vincent), the others began a conversation.

"So, Vamp. How was your little monster hunting trip yesterday?" Cid asked, his mouth full. Gawd, I love the old fart.

"I was unable to kill any, but I have the data that Reeve required. It backs up a theory that we rather hope is not the case." Vince said. His plate of food was untouched.

"Hm? What theory is this?" Shera asked. Science was her thing, after all.

"It's easy to explain in simple terms, but hard to justify..."

At that point, I decided not to listen. Geekspeak is _so_ not equal to breakfast when it comes to my attention.

"If I told you that there may be a direct link between myself and Sephiroth, would you believe it?"

Someone dropped their glass. I looked down and found out it was me. So much for not paying attention. I was gonna drink that OJ, as well. Cid got up, cuffed me around the back of the head, got a cloth and cleaned the spill. The conversation resumed.

"Well, I suppose that genetically, there is a chance of lineage..."

"What Shera means is that Hojo was a little _fugly_ to be that pretty boy Sephiroth's dad. And seeing as you're the only other guy with a shot at banging this Lucrecia woman..."

Shera punched Cid, and Vince shot them both a glare. They settled down. This was starting to get interesting.

"I don't mean in terms of genetics. Merely in terms of role. What I saw yesterday supports the theory that Jenova, the so-called 'Calamity From The Skies', was an entirely natural phenomenon." he went on.

"Entirely natural? Sorry, but don't most _natural_ things come with _heads_?" I asked, mouth full of bacon. Vince shot me a look, and I swallowed. Without my inner ninja, his death glare was a trillion times more dangerous.

"The 'from the skies' part is what interests us. We believe that Jenova is not from this planet; Cetra records tell us that much. We also believe that the Northern Crater was created when Jenova, or the comet containing Jenova, impacted the planet."

"Skip this boring crap and tell us the ending, Vamp." Another punch from Shera. If she had her slippers, he'd be dead.

"We also believe that Jenova is, at least in part, biological. Which implies a biological creature capable of travelling through space under its own power."

He looked at us, in that Vinny way that means 'I have just spelt something out for you in basic terms. It should be immediately obvious what my point is, despite the fact that what I spelled out has nothing to do with anything.' After a while, he gave up.

"We know of only one type of creature capable of that. The Weapons. More specifically, Omega Weapon."

"You have got to be _freaking _kidding me. No WAY was Jenova an Omega Weapon." I spat.

"Unfortunately, there's a possibility that it was. Jenova and Sephiroth sought to become Gods of the planet by fusing themselves with the Lifestream- in other words, absorbing it. The Omega Weapon was the only other known creature with that capacity. In addition, Omega Weapon was supposed to bring our planet's Lifestream energy to another planet and colonise it, meaning it would have had to override another planet's Lifestream in order to carry out its purpose. That's suspiciously similar to Jenova's aim." Vince went on. Shera's jaw had dropped.

"So, wait. Jenova and Sephiroth were just another planet's takeover attempt? Bullcrap, Vamp. Ain't no way in hell." Cid spat. His cigarette quivered dangerously on the edge of his lips.

"Of course, there were differences, too...The theory is currently that Jenova was another planet's Omega Weapon, but that it was malfunctioning in some way. Almost like a cancer. If we liken Jenova to a cancer cell, with the ability to grow back and reform when scattered, it makes a good deal of sense." Vince went on. He was the only one among us who was impassive. "Sephiroth may be likened to Chaos; his mission was to return as many souls to the Lifestream as possible, probably with the impact of Meteor. Those would then be absorbed by Jenova, the dominant partner of the pair. That's the theoretical link between he and I."

I was hearing it. I was understanding it. And yet, all I could think was that it was _way_ too early in the morning for this.

"So, how do frickin' mutant monsters back this crap up?" Cid asked. His bacon was forgotten. I considered stealing it.

"The monsters...They had Geostigma."

The table fell silent.

"If Jenova was another planet's Omega, and it was in space, it would mean that it had absorbed and therefore still contained the Lifestream of that planet. That Lifestream would be released when Jenova was destroyed, just like our Omega Weapon. We destroyed Jenova in a place surrounded by our own planet's Lifestream." Vince carried on. "Geostigma is Jenova's 'memetic legacy', and can be traced directly to her- or, rather, it. All life comes from the Lifestream, even monsters. If new, mutated monsters are being born, and Geostigma is present at birth..."

"Then Jenova's Lifestream and our Lifestream are mixing. The monsters are from Jenova's Lifestream, being born on our planet...The takeover attempt isn't over. It's only just beginning." Shera finished. Her lip quivered. The ashes from Cid's fag fell on the floor.

Jenova Doomsday Theories cereal- the depressing way to start your day. Coming to a planet near you.

* * *

A/N: Well. There we go. Original theory over! The story takes a serious tone here to coincide with Yuffie's emotional breakdown- the lack of jokes is intended to mirror that breakdown. I promise things'll cheer up soon. And, yes. This chapter was late.

On a side note, the whole theory is a kind of reference to FFIX's plot- the whole Gaia being subsumed into Terra via souls (Lifestream?) being replaced. This story now has layers; fear its onion-ey goodness. Recurring themes in Final Fantasy for the win.


	11. Ninja Do Not Make Sandwiches

_Chapter Ten: Ninja Do Not Make Sandwiches

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_

There are lots of ways you can tell that your life is not the way you wanted it to be. If you're old, you just look around and see if you're in a nursing home with no visitors. If you're young, it's because your test results spell 'xylophone'. If you're me, it's when Vincent Valentine elects himself as your bestest friend and then takes you into a secluded spot in the Nibel mountain ranges for some 'hard work.'

Oh, and he does it just after revealing that your planet is in the middle of fighting a takeover bid by aliens.

Now, this was bad in all kinds of ways, not least because even _thinking_ of the words 'hard work' makes me squeamish. Hard work and Yuffie do not go together. We're like two big ol' north pole magnets, and no matter how much you try and put us together, one of us is gonna run away screaming.

"Yuffie, you'll be with me today. We'll go to Nibel for some intensive training." he'd said, over the breakfast table. About five minutes after everyone recovered from the Jenova thing. Good to see that the whole 'Planet might still be taken over by Pretty Boy Sephiroth and his mutant mommy' thing hadn't stopped Vincent from being Mr. Sensitive.

Now, _obviously_, there were a lot of things wrong with that plan. For one, there were dragons at Nibel. Y'know, big, green, breathes fire? That kinda dragon. The kind you almost wish were your aunt, because although dragons are uglier, your aunt's breath is usually noxious as well as on fire. I usually wouldn't mind, being an awesome ninja and all, but y'gotta remember that I had one weapon, and it was made of paper. And here's a protip for all you wannabe pyromaniacs out there: paper burns _good_.

That ignores the fact that I was no longer an awesome ninja. Because my inner ninja had followed that oldest and grandest of ninja traditions, and with killer timing. Which left me as not-so-awesome Yuffie Kisaragi. I was still perfectly capable of filching a few items from anything that moved, but I wasn't feeling up to cutting stuff to ribbons or pulling fancy acrobatics. Or being chased all over the world by Wutaian agents and Jenova and whoever the hell was supposed to be knocking Vincent off, but there you go.

"Yuffie, concentrate." Vince bitched. I groaned. Back to work.

And so, we went back to our 'training': Vince, my self-elected bestest buddy ever, was throwing rocks at me. And I was trying not to get hit in the face. Joy.

"You're still not moving like you used to, Yuffie. It's like you're in slow motion." he grumbled, tossing another clod of stone. I ducked out of the way and it soared off the mountain, echoing as it bounced down the ferocious slopes of Nibel. The same slopes that had almost killed Boobs, once upon a time, and grazed Cloud's knees.

On a side note, I am not joking when I say that Vince could probably get a job as a professional sportsman. He's got a great arm. Well, his human one, anyways. For all I know, that weird metal glove of his is concealing a pitching machine or something.

But he was right. I wasn't moving right. I was moving like a novice, or someone who'd never even been a ninja to start with. It didn't make me sad, just...angry. Angry at my inner ninja for having ditched me, angry at my dumbass dad for sending people to hunt me, and very angry at Vince for taking me up to the freakin' creep-filled mountains of Nibel so he could stand there tossing rocks at me.

I tried to make my way towards him to clock him on the head for being such an ass, but it was difficult. Mount Nibel is tricky terrain. There's always a fine layer of dust on the ground, so your feet slide. And it's so freaking _cold_. Red once told me it was because of the Mako Reactor and what was housed there; that it had brought an unnatural frost into the mountains due to mako consumption, just like the Glacier and Northern Crater. And I was in the same stuff I wore to beat Deepground. Gawd, why couldn't I learn to pick _warm_ clothes?

Still, Captain Claw was just standing there, with a smug look on his face. And it was just so tempting to try and knock it off with a good punch.

And I was getting there. Dodge by dodge, I was getting closer to him. He had to bend to pick up rocks every so often, and that's when I dashed forwards, feinting left or right every so often in case he decided to just toss the rocks he had instead of picking up a full bunch. And then it'd be back to feeling rocks go past my face like comets, with a spray of gravel for the tail. But I was _doing_ it. He couldn't throw as well from close range, so once I got within his arm's range, I had him. A couple more steps-

As soon as I got within his arm's range, he held a rock in his hand and hit me over the head with it. Fireworks exploded in front of my eyes and I sank to the ground.

"Lesson one when dealing with gunmen: whilst bullets are the biggest threat, the butt of the gun is also a strong defensive weapon in the hands of an expert." he deadpanned, tossing the rock up and down. Great. I was getting Combat 101 from Dog's Breath Valentine. Just great.

The fact that Vincent had brutalised me with a rock seemed to herald lunch. Shera had given him a tiny and smelly knapsack when we were leaving, and Vince dipped his hand in before extracted what I _think_ was a sandwich, once upon a time. It was made from crappy, holey bread, mayo, and a type I fish I was fairly sure went extinct sometime in the past two hundred years. Nice to see that Shera's food prep had improved.

"Vince, why the hell are we doing this again?" I asked, hurling the sandwich Vince had given me down the mountain. It landed with what I swear was a crunch.

"Because, Yuffie. Your combat efficiency has been going down recently. You're going to get killed if the trend continues." he said between bites.

That got me. Recently? I'd only been this bad since last night. What did he mean, recently?

"Since when has my 'combat efficiency", I mimicked as snottily as possible, "Been going down?"

"The day I picked you up on the Wutai mountains. You were moving strangely, like there was something...off. It was only slight, so I gave it no heed. However, when I found you running from the wolf monsters, it was worse. You were noticeably slower to react that you had ever been previously. You were getting hit by things you would've dodged. On the boat, it became clear that you weren't fit for combat, either emotionally or physically. Even factoring in the seasickness, it was the worst I've ever seen you. And since you got to Rocket Town, even your regular, non-battle movements are jerky and easy to pick out."

Wow. I hadn't been expecting some big goddamn speech. With this and his big Jenova will take over the world speech, I was starting to think Vince was becoming a politician.

"So, to remedy this, you've taken me to a place full of monsters which you don't think I can fight, and you're throwing rocks at me."

"So far, you have exceeded my expectations. After this break, we shall move on to rubber bullets."

You know that sinking feeling when you think something's going to go wrong? I got that when Vince started loading his shotgun.

"It's important that you can dodge gunfire. Guns are likely to be the weapon of choice for anyone who pursues you." he said as he fiddled with the barrel. "These bullets will not seriously injure you, but they will hurt if they hit."

I was far from comforted. Without warning, he stood bolt upright and flicked his gun towards the mountainside. When the shot came, the whole mountain seemed to shake. Something bounced off the side of mountain at high speed, and bounced straight back. Vince twisted his head to dodge it and it flew into the air before tumbling to the ground far below. There were cracks in the mountainside from where it had first impacted.

"Wait. You're not _seriously_ planning to shoot me with one of those, are you?" I asked, not bothering to restrain the note of panic in my voice. Forget _hurt, _those things would knock me for six!

"No." he said, kneeling down again. "I have the wrong barrel. Not accurate enough."

"Wait, wait, wait. You want me to dodge them, but you're setting yourself up for high accuracy? You sure you're not just sadistic?" I snarled. He didn't react, but just took a longer barrel out of his item sack and started fixing it onto the gun.

"Your enemies will not pull their punches, Yuffie. I do not intend to, either." he said, standing up. He fired again at the mountainside, and the cracks were deeper than last time. He nodded, seemingly satisfied that these bullets were going to hurt me enough.

"This will be a field exercise. I will give you a fifteen second head start. Get as far away as possible, then try and use the mountain's terrain to avoid being shot."

Vincent Valentine. What a great best friend he turned out to be. At least he was helping me relearn that great ninja tradition.

He took a bullet from his pocket and loaded it into the gun. "Your time starts now. Use it well."

I cheesed it.

* * *

One day, I will have a serious phobia of mountains. Bad things always seem to happen. When I'm not being mauled by monsters or kidnapped or frozen, I'm being shot at. As I ran from Vincent (so infuriatingly slowly! Where was my flawless lope?), I thought about just chucking myself off the nearest precipice and rolling down the mountain to Rocket Town. Couldn't hurt as much as those freaking rubber bullets, and maybe I'd be able to stop for some non-crappy lunch with Captain Marlboro. I decided against it, because firstly Cid can't make sandwiches to save his creaky pilot ass, and secondly because I kinda like my legs and I'd prefer to keep them.

The next plan of action was to go and find myself a hidey-hole in the caves. It seemed like a good idea- after all, I was flexible in a way that's semi-obscene. And Vince probably couldn't even kneel down with his stupid leather pantaloons.

So, I ducked into one of the natural openings in the mountain. It was one of the ones we'd seen when we were travelling with Cloud; I remembered that it lead up to some kinda of mako fountain or something. Although I could probably go for some materia (what I wouldn't give to set Vince's stupid cape on fire!), it probably wasn't in my best interests to be sitting about in wide open spaces. Unfortunately, I wasn't counting on one thing.

Vincent Valentine is a cheating little hobo.

As I dodged around a corner, I heard Vince approaching. (Gawd, I'm glad he wears metal shoes.) I had a good few seconds on him, and I could definitely be around the next corner before he got managed to round on me and aim-

Something exploded behind me, and I remember a few fragments of rock peppering my back. Which is weird, because my attention really should have been focused on the fact that I'd been shot in the leg.

"Goddamit!" I cursed, the sound tumbling through the caves. Waves of scalding pain were washing over the back of my right thigh, and I could almost feel the bruise forming already. My weakened leg trembled below me for a fraction of a second, then folded. I collapsed to the ground, my knee opening itself on the stone floor. How did he hit me from around the freakin' corner?

"Hmph. If you are expecting to be pursued by someone with the same level of training as me, you must be always aware of the many applications of the ricochet effect." he grumbled from somewhere behind me. Of course. He'd shot the wall and bounced the bullet off it. Easy, when your bullets are made of rubber. Smug git.

I tried to get up, but it wasn't happening. Even if I got up and started running, I'd be way slower than usual- and if he was gonna use sneaky little tricks like that, I wasn't going to stand a chance. Soon enough, he rounded the corner, the barrel already pointed at my face. His mouth creased into a frown.

"Being hit in the leg will effectively remove you from the battle. You should have deflected the bullet with your weapon."

Yes, my weapon. Which was still kinda folded up in a square in my back pocket.

"Trust me, Vince." I snarled, biting my lip so hard it bled. "If I had my weapon out right now, it'd be sticking out of your eye."

He sighed, and propped his gun against the wall. Then, he crouched down to take a look at my leg. I groaned, and rolled over so he could get a better look. I felt the dust and the grit biting into my stomach through my shirt, and immediately wished I hadn't. But it was only when I felt his hand on the back of my leg that I realised just _how _close the bruise was to my ass.

"You should have used your fifteen seconds to climb the mountain. Higher ground is an indispensable strategic advantage against ranged attackers." he drawled, not noticing my face flush red as his hands ghosted dangerously close to sensitive areas.

To thank him for his wonderful advice, I told him to go sit on the sharp end of Cid's spear. I was about to tell him that his mother was a whore when he pressed down on my bruise and made me spit out all the air in my lungs.

Then I felt something tickle near the seat of my shorts.

Now, obviously, I was caught between laughing and squirming like a five-year-old, or calling rape. I was seriously thinking about the latter, when I felt soft fabric being wrapped around my bruise.

"I apologise. I should have brought bandages."

Of course. He was wrapping the wound. Should've guessed. Obviously, Vince is a zombo-king so he's not interested in _human _women. He lifted my leg up to complete the loop, and whatever it was tickled me some more.

Eventually, he let me up. I immediately bounced upwards, like a cork from a bottle, to see if my leg could take the strain. Luckily, it could. I looked down to appraise his 'bandage', and found a red piece of silk tied just below my shorts. It was his bandanna.

Now, I'll be honest: every time that guy lets his hair down, it takes my breath away. I mean, honestly. It should be illegal, it really should. He has this little habit of shaking his head every so often to keep the hair out of his eyes, and when he does it, he looks like a lion. That's exactly what it looks like, as if he's shaking out a jet-black mane. I know girls back in Wutai who'd have wet dreams over that kind of thing.

I was gawking, so I snapped my head back down to my feet before he noticed. But, I was kinda starting to forgive him a little. I mean, y'know. Even a tasty hair-down Vincent isn't enough to excuse the fact that he shot at me, but it made up for the crappy sandwiches earlier. Well, almost.

Now, there's always a but. Something always ruins the moment, because life's like that. It happens. Your true love steps off the train, and you notice that he's spilt coffee all over his crotch. You get a brand new car, and a bird christens it with a big dollop of natural plant fertiliser. You finally reach the top of the highest mountain, and you realise that your pants have split. That kinda thing.

You remember how I was talking about dragons?

Oh, _yeah_.

* * *

A/N: I decided, after a lot of thought, to split this chapter in two; it and the next chapter were originally going to be two parts of one whole. Really, it's just to cut back on the delays; it's taken more than three weeks for me to write this, and I'm way late. At least this way, I can get back in the rhythm, and it stops me from just leaving it unfinished. Sorry about that. Next chapter: a dragon and a plot twist.


	12. Dragonskin Purses Are So Last Year

_Chapter Eleven: Dragon-skin purses are so last year

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_

The first thing I noticed was the smell. Now, I hate to tell you this, but dragons reek. In fact, most animals reek. It's what animals do, and that's, y'know, fine and all, but dragons are only marginally behind Mus and Behemoths when it comes to the gag-o-meter. Despite the fact that dragons are basically big lizards, they tend to avoid water, because having your epic fire breath fizzle out just because you suddenly developed a taste in personal hygiene kinda sucks. And considering that dragons are basically the biggest carnivores on the planet (excluding Barret), and spend their time either picking the bones of wayward ninja-but-not-ninja or washing them down with a nice chunk of animal carcass, it all adds up to not being a pleasant experience.

In fact, no. I'm probably being kinda harsh there. I like dragons, in a romantic kind of way. They'd probably smell better if they could cook. I'd completely adore any predator that came my way smelling of fresh-cooked bacon.

But, it is kinda handy that they smell so bad. Because I noticed it a mile away. (Unlike Vinnie, who couldn't smell a fart if it ran up and clotheslined him.)

Obviously, my first thought was to get the hell out of there. Vinnie could take it on if he wanted, but no way in hell was I sticking around. That plan lasted about five seconds before I remembered that dear old Vincey-pants had shot me in the freaking leg.

"Yuffie. Do you...smell something?" he asked. Wow, way to be oblivious, Vince. Chaos may have been designed for the express purpose of making everything on the planet his bitch, but it doesn't seem like you've picked up any of the hunting skills.

"Yes, Vincent, I do. There's a freaking _dragon_ on the way. What else do you know that smells like overcooked monster-burgers?" I hissed, making sure to get right up in his face. My breath whooshed his hair out of his eyes a little, which was the cue for my body to go into teenage-hormone mode. Him and his freaking metro boyband hair.

"That could be problematic." he replied, as if my warning of certain impending _death_ was no more troubling than if I'd told him it might rain. Oh, yes, Yuffie. Big scaly monster, headed our way. Make sure you take a coat.

For a moment, I considered telling him that I hated his guts, so much that I'd happily rip them out and fashion them into eighteen kinds of kinky knickers. But as I opened my mouth, something big, green and stinky roared from outside the caves.

"Hmph. I set my bag down outside so as to reduce weight and improve running speed." he said, again like it was nothing more threatening than a hot afternoon.

"What the hell does that mean, Vince?" I whined. Yes, whined. I was getting awfully sick of this kind of crap.

"It means that I only brought twelve bullets with me, all of them made of rubber."

Freaking fantastic. Here we were, in a cave, with me out of action and Vince armed with the firearm equivalent of a squeaky mallet, waiting for the dragon that was outside to finally get its fat green ass in gear and roast us alive. Just wonderful. Makes you feel glad to get up in the morning.

"Look, Vince...If I die, I just want you to know that...well..."

"Yes, Yuffie?"

"I am so sending you a 'Wish You Were Here' postcard from Hell."

Unfortunately, our romantic moment was interrupted by half of the cave falling on our heads. The dragon was evidently too big to fit inside, but too stupid to realise it, and had tried to jam itself through the entrance. With a nod and some malformed gesture of his hand, he flipped around the corner to take a look. He flipped back almost immediately, looking mildly irritated.

"Yuffie. We have a problem." he said urgently.

"Wow. Could it possibly be the _freaking humongous dragon trying to eat us_?" I spat.

"Indeed. Its...'freaking humongousness'", he said, making the air quotes irritatingly obvious, "is due to the fact it is a mother."

"Oh, that's it. I'm now _officially_ having a bad day, and it's all your fault. If we get out of this alive, you owe me three scoops of ice cream and a chocolate chip brownie." I snarled, trying to get up. My leg wobbled, and barely held. His eyes shot to my midriff, then back to my face.

"Your weapon. You have it, correct? It may be wise to use your Restore materia."

I was torn. On one hand, if I used magic on my leg, it'd raise our chances from flimsy to substantial. But on the other, there was a reason we all stopped using magic after Sephiroth's war- because magic was the planet's wisdom, the planet's energy. And the planet needed all the help it could get. (Of course, we'd used it to fix Reeve's nose, but that was a minor thing. And Reeve's nose needs all the help it can get, too.)

"You have misgivings, I know-" he said, before a bone-shattering roar bounced through the cave. A few fragments of ceiling fell into his hair, but he soldiered on. "-but right now, the amount of good we can do for the Planet by being alive to deal with the crisis at hand far exceeds the negative effects of a shot of healing magic."

I groaned. Count on Vinny to rationalise in the face of death. The problem wasn't how much it hurt the Planet, but how much it felt like I'd be betraying Aerith, who'd given her life to keep the Planet's juice flowing. But he was right. I picked the folded paper out of my pocket, and flicked my wrist. It bounced back into the shape of a poorly folded bird, ready for use. With a few words and a pang of regret, I was back in fighting form.

"Right. So, what's the plan? Run?" I asked, testing out my leg. Good as new- in fact, better. Weird.

"We're dealing with a dragon. Even if we were to try and escape across the mountain range, she has wings, and will pursue us. Mother dragons are very territorial." he deadpanned, picking up his gun. Neither of us mentioned that he could probably get away, if he were by himself and not weighed down by a less-than-ninja.

"Well, I sure ain't gonna put a dent in its hide with a piece of paper, Vinny. And bullets kinda fail against scales anyway, never mind when they're made of rubber."

"Well, we shall have to aim for weak spots. It's to our advantage to stay in the cave; we're smaller, and have better mobility. Its bulk will be cumbersome in here."

As if incensed by Vincent accidentally cracking a fat joke, Big Green and Ugly roared and started bashing harder against the cave mouth. The sound made my legs tremble, and I could almost feel the roof shifting above my head.

"...Wait. Vince? How good of a shot are you?" I asked, putting on a casual smile.

"If I can hit you via ricochet, I'm capable of hitting a dragon, Yuffie. Why? Do you have an idea?"

We were interrupted by the sound of a cave mouth being forcibly torn open by a huge-ass dragon, which happens surprisingly often to me. And Gawd, was Vincent right about it being huge-ass. A normal dragon is about twice the size of a human when it stands on its hind legs. This one could have beaten me, Vinnie and Cid stacked on top of each other, with room to spare. I sprang away from the rocks instinctively, Vince going in the opposite direction, as we heard a sound we were both familiar with; a faint hiss, like a gas fire, and then the roaring fwoosh of flames. Heat, soft and deadly, seeped from the air into my limbs, and the stone walls danced with orange light.

The dragon turned away from me, towards Vince. I heard the report of his gun, and the indescribable sound of a rubber bullet bouncing harmlessly off scales. Something dragged off towards my left, behind a maw of stalagmites, and I hit the ground. Seconds later, the stalagmites exploded, swept away by a flick of the beast's tail. It sailed over my head, followed by a blast of rancid air that almost made me gag. And then I was back up, my body moving on its own, like I knew what to do, like I stood a chance-

"The eyes, Vince! Shoot it in the eyes!" I howled.

There was some sort of choked reply from behind the dragon. Instantly, it was hunched over, searching for the voice with teeth and fire and claw. My legs started moving but so did the tail, flicking back towards my head like a viper. I didn't even stop, tucking my head down so it just missed, the _pwht_ sound of a barely-dodged blow sounding in my ears a half-second later. But that was all I needed. The dragon's wing was dipped low, and I streaked towards it like a thunderbolt, like a missile, like-

_Greased Lighting._

It echoed in my bones, in my muscles, in my brain. A wave of relief surged through me at the same time as the energy surged in my muscles. I could still do Greased Lightning. It was burnt into me, like a brand. It could never be removed.

Which is more than I can say for the dragon's wing.

I hit the bone, the thick stump where the wing connected to the back. It wasn't where I'd been aiming, but it was better. Where a normal blow would have glanced off, my Limit bit, tore and cut through. The wing fell, slowly, almost feather-like, to the ground, and a spray of blood shot from the torn sinews. I felt the heat in the air as I moved away.

The dragon howled. Not roared, but howled, a high, keening screech of pain. It stayed low, though, evidently deciding to use its new wound as motivation to fry Vincent. Swinging its head low to the ground like a cobra, it shifted its bulk to maximise the damage. The tail sailed by again, and I dodged so naturally I almost didn't notice. The blood pumped in my veins.

Then, it happened. A spray of red, and a guttural howl- but human, not beast. Vincent. Suddenly I was up, up, over the dragon's back, sailing through the air with a ninja's leap, looking down as Vincent fought to free his metal arm from the dragon's teeth. What in the name of hell was he doing that close anyway? I felt rather than saw the wrench as his arm left the beast's maw, and started casting the cure spell with no hesitation. But Vincent had moved, his gun arm shooting towards the beast's face, barrel to the eye-

Another burst of red, and everything was chaos. The dragon reared upwards, the bullet in its eye working where my wing removal hadn't. It cracked its head on the ceiling, and I felt the shift as the rocks finally came loose. The cure sailed from my hands and hid Vince dead on, healing the arm underneath the gauntlet. I landed effortlessly, already running, launching myself along behind the swirl of Vincent's cape, searching desperately for the exit. A flash of sunlight, and-

The world crashed behind my ankles as I tumbled from the cave. Rubble blocked the exit, and an impotent plume of smoke swirled through the dust. My skin, covered in dust, felt drawn and tight in the sunlight. My leg throbbed.

"Hmph. And I thought you need practice." Vince muttered, his voice husky from the smoke and the dust.

Somehow, I found it funny. After all that, the worst he'd _really_ come out with was a sore throat, whilst ever single muscle in my body was aching, protesting. The giggles forced themselves from my mouth, bubbling up in my ribs and bursting out into the world. I'd just beaten a dragon. Me, non-ninja Yuffie Kisaragi. Awesome. Vincent gave me a strange look as I continued to laugh.

* * *

"Hahaha! Frickin' mosey! What the hell you think y'are, a cowboy? I still can't believe you, you goddamn numbskull!"

My dragon-slaying euphoria had well and truly worn off by the time we got back to Cid's. I was dusty, dirty, sweaty, my leg was still throbbing like crazy and to top it all off, I was completely starving because I hadn't eaten any of Shera's crappy sandwiches. Vincent was his usual boring self, not talking on the way back, but shooting apologetic glances at my leg every so often. Better than the other stuff he'd shot at it, I guess. Didn't help that Cid was shouting so loud we could hear him ten feet from the house.

"So, how's Tifa doing, chocobo-head?"

Tifa? _Chocobo-head? _

I must've crossed those ten feet in two steps. There was no possible way it could be him. I mean, _Cloud?_ Why would Cloud be here? Didn't he have to sex Tifa or something?

I threw the door open, and, lo and behold, Sir Goggles'n'Coat was sat on his chair, drinking his goddamn tea.

I may have squealed a little. Only a little.

Before I knew it, I'd thrown myself around his neck, laughing and crying and thanking Leviathan that _finally_, someone sane had shown up. Well, okay, so Cloud has a few issues about his past and how he substituted himself for that Zack dude and stuff, but y'know. Better than Vincent Head-Case Valentine and Cid the tea-addict.

"Yuffie. Nice to see you too. I heard what happened." he said, all down to earth. Instead of untangling himself from my arms, he just stood up and waited for me to drop off. Then looked down at me, feeling smug because he's tall. Gawd, I missed him.

"Cloud. You've arrived." Vincent said, helpfully. Because obviously Cloud didn't know.

Tall Blonde and Quiet was then distracted by Tall Dark and Gruesome, and they started to talk. I decided to go and bribe Shera for food, because frankly, when Vince and Cloud are talking it feels like they're discussing plans for the local emo anonymous convention.

"Reeve told me," Cloud said, sipping his tea. "About Jenova."

Nice to see he still hadn't learned to construct a decent sentence.

"Hn. There is no need to lie, Cloud," Vincent retorted. Actually, he was speaking better than chocobo head these days. That was _weird_.

"Ha. I guess no one can fool you,"Cloud shrugged back. I couldn't figure out whether they were talking or playing poker. Too much concealment.

"You knew," Vincent concluded.

"Yeah. Maybe it's the past connections...Between Sephiroth and me. Or maybe...Hojo? I'm not sure how much I can believe...Whether I'm a clone or not. I have memories, but..."

Wait. Wait wait wait. Cloud knew about the Jenova thing?

"I had my suspicions. Either way, it is an advantageous connection. Your..._sensitivity _to Jenova may, in this case, be used as an indication of how far along the process is."

This was making my head hurt.

"Hey now. What in t'hell are you numbskulls talking about? Spit it out!" Cid bawled. Evidently, I wasn't the only one.

"Cloud may or may not have Jenova cells. But even if not, he has a strong connection to Sephiroth. He's also a past sufferer of Geostigma. Because of that, he is sensitive to Jenova's actions," Vince explained. Coldly.

"Dammit, Vamp. You make it sound like he's a test subject." Cid jumped in, just before I could say the same thing. Great minds think alike, although I could do without the cigarette habit.

"It's okay, Cid. We've got to use what we have to our advantage." Cloud said, again coldly. I guess in a conversation between a former Turk and a former mercenary, everything is rationalised.

"But first, Cloud, the matter we discussed. I believe it would be best to put that plan into effect immediately," Vince went on. His fingers twitched.

"I agree."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell're you guys talkin' about? Let us in on it."

Gotta love Cid and his forthrightness. I was still scared of interrupting Cloud and Vinny, in case they got depressed and started crying in the corner.

"Yuffie. You're coming to Edge, to live with me and Teef for a while. For safety reasons," Cloud said, turning to me. A small smile flickered onto his face.

"Gawd, why didn't you tell me?" I whooped. "Boobs could probably use some company."

"Yeah. That's what I thought, too. We'll have to leave tomorrow...Time is vital."

I grinned. Teef, Cloud, me and Vince. No one would mess with us! "Okay. So, like, where's your bike, anyway? I didn't see it outside."

He stifled a laugh. "Fenrir's a great bike, but Edge is on the other side of the Nibel mountains. I don't think I'd want to risk it."

I scratched my head. How could he have gotten up the mountain, then? Cloud hardly ever walked. In fact, I'd been pretty sure his ass had been soldered to the seat of that bike for a while. And how could he have climbed the mountain without seeing us and that dragon on the way?

"Vincent's chocobo," he shrugged. "It's a pretty nice bird. I think it likes me."

I snorted. "Pfft. Only because it thinks you're a potential mate."

"Hn. It's possible. It _is _a female, and your hair..." Vincent left off.

"Wait, _what_? It's a female? I totally thought it was a male," I gasped. "Wow, Vince. Your chocobo is a choco-ho."

"Well. Anyway...We'll ride it over the mountains tomorrow, and then proceed on bike," Cloud shrugged. Probably desperate for the juddering throb of heavy machinery between his legs.

"Well, damn. Wondered why you had me go all the way to Wutai to pick that damn bird up," Cid said, whistling. "Why didn't we just pick up Yuffie and fly her to Edge directly, anyways?"

"Secrecy. The Shera attracts more than its fair share of attention," Vincent rumbled. Cid muttered something about it attracting not nearly enough attention, and Shera tittered somewhere in the background.

I smiled. Like old times. But there was something weird- Vince was acting funny, and Cloud was avoiding something. I decided to distract them with an innocuous comment.

"It's gonna be pretty cramped, though...How're we gonna get three whole people on a choco-ho, never mind on your bike?"

Cloud glanced sideways, and Vince shot him a killer death glare. But Cloud, like me, has had more than enough killer death glares to be immune.

"Yuffie. There won't be three people...Just you and me."

I struggled to comprehend the information. Just Cloud and me? What about Vince?

"Yuffie...You'll be staying in Edge for a good while, to recover from recent stress. I, however, must continue trying to find a solution to the Jenova Problem," Vince said. He had a rasp in his voice.

"You...You're not coming? But Vince..."

"I made sure to stay by you, to create the _illusion_ that I would be travelling with you to Edge. In reality, Cloud is more than enough of an escort, and I cannot afford-"

"You're abandoning me," I spat. He looked apologetic. Great. After all this time, after our moments on the boat, on the Wutai mountain, at Nibel, he was dropping me like a bad egg. _So sorry, Yuffie, but I really don't have enough time. I have to save the world_. Just like my dad never had time off from being Emperor of Wutai.

He seemed to search for the right words. "Yuffie, I-"

"Don't 'Yuffie' me. What about Cecil and Rosa, Vincent? What about that?" I snarled, jabbing him in the chest. He just looked at me, dumbstruck. Gawd. I could feel my blood pressure rising just from being around him.

"Brat, I know you have the hots for Vampy here, but-"

"Oh, shut up, Captain Cancer. I'm going to sleep," I snarled, stomping off.

I still don't know _why_ I reacted like I did. I mean, it's not like they were lying to me. Cloud _was_ more than tough enough to handle the job. Vince _did_ need to shoot some monsters or whatever. And Cid was, well, Cid, which is reason enough not to yell at him. But Vince had been there pretty much since the start of this whole mess. He'd been there, dorky and quiet and supportive in his own little way, through one of the toughest times in my life. And I guess maybe I was starting to rely on him, a little.

There were still too many questions that needed answers- about the conspiracy, about Jenova, and about what the hell was going on in my life. All I could do was that tomorrow dropped the answers off with Cid's milk.

* * *

A/N: And again, horribly late. I keep getting distracted. Still, a change of scene, and whatnot. Hope you're looking forwards to the next chapter. By the way, I refer in this chapter to Yuffie (and the rest of the heroes) being reserved about their use of materia. This is because materia forms a connection to the planet and "The established connection is then used to manifest the spell with the Lifestream's energy - the reason the heroes of Final Fantasy VII no longer use materia by the time of Advent Children, according to a comment from Tetsuya Nomura in the Advent Children

Reunion Files book (pg. 87)." I forget where I heard it, but hear it I did, so I decided to incorporate it. Why does Vincent use materia in DoC, then? I dunno. Probably because he's one cold mo'fo.


	13. Birds, Brains, and Automobikes

_Chapter Twelve: Birds, Brains, and Automobikes

* * *

_

The sky looked like someone had cracked an egg in it when we left. Cloud the clod wanted to leave at dawn, which was the dumbest idea since Vinnie's training yesterday.

"What part of 'Yuffie Kisaragi is not a morning person' do you not understand, Choco-butt?" I asked him irritably, as he clicked on the light in Cid's awesomely tiny kitchen.

"Neither are your enemies, probably," he deadpanned, grabbing a carton of milk and proceeding to ( wait for it) make tea.

I threw off Vinnie's travelling cloak (it made an awesome duvet- duds with togs, gotta love 'em), and immediately marched to his grill to engage in some up-close-and-personal finger jabbing. A flit of doubt crossed his face, just before he turned around and bonked me on the head with the freakin' kettle.

"What in the name of hell, Clot?" I howled.

He shrugged. "Cid told me it was the contingency."

I hate it when men think they're clever.

"Oh, he did, did he? Well, I don't care how shiny and golden he is, I will _still_ go up there and remove his 'nads." I muttered. Cloud looked at me blankly, then returned to making his goddamn tea.

Fifteen minutes, one cup of tea and half a pot of hair gel later (Cloud is _so_ metro, I swear), we were ready to go. I'd decided very firmly that Vincent and me were not on speaking terms, so I wasn't about to go looking for him. Unfortunately, he was the one charged with collecting our choco-ho from outside Mount Nibel where Cloud had left it.

"Yuffie. Please be careful." he said with his stupid serious expression and his stupid emo hair and his stupid clown shoes. "Cloud cannot protect you if you will not protect yourself."

I ignored him. Regardless of whether I was a ninja or not, my ability to sulk was always first rate.

Without ceremony, Cloud hopped onto the emo-bo. Say what you like about the thing, it had strong legs; it held his weight without so much as a buckled knee. I hopped on afterwards, realising very quickly that chocobos, as a species, are built very much for one rider. I had to reach around and grope Cloud's man-boobs for support, which wasn't entirely unpleasant, but y'know. Standard taxi-cab etiquette says not to feel up the driver.

Vincent shot me another one of his weird, smouldering looks as we started to move off. It trickled down my spine like a drop of warm rain, and I shivered it off. Cloud finally managed to kick the chocobo into gear, and we started moving proper, but Vince kept his eyes glued to mine until he was out of sight.

* * *

The journey across Mount Nibel was actually pretty uneventful. I already knew that Vince's chocobo was pretty good on mountains, but I'd forgotten _how_ good. It barely seemed to need any input from Cloud, picking its way across the crags easily with those massive clawed feet. My hands have gravitated down from Cloud's moobs to his waist; I couldn't let go entirely, because the chocobo didn't seem to realise that going up forty-five degree inclines is harder on the passengers than it is on the vehicle.

"Yuffie. We'll stop off in Gongaga on the way to Edge. Okay?" Cloud asked, as if going up mountains on the back of some spoony bird didn't bother him.

"Why? Isn't it better to just, y'know, get back to Boobs? She's probably missing you." I replied, holding on for dear life as the chocobo started a descent into one of Mt. Nibel's many crevices.

"Yes, but..." He looked uncomfortable.

"But what?"

"...I'd prefer it if you didn't throw up over my bike _too _much."

Wow. Just wow, Cloud. Way to make me feel better about my travel sickness.

"Ugh, fine. Wimp. You'll step in Behemoth guts in North Crater, but you won't clean a little puke off your bike." I groaned. Now that he'd mentioned travel sickness, I wasn't feeling too good.

"Well, if you throw up on the seats, you'll be the one sitting in it the rest of the way. So, we're taking rest stops."

"So I can go and puke."

"So you can go and puke."

After that _de_-lightful conversation, I wasn't looking forwards to riding on Fenrir too much. I mean, hell, it's a sweet bike, but the Highwind had been a sweet airship, and I still threw up all over that. Not only that, but Fenrir was designed for one even more than Vinnie's choco-ho, which meant that, whilst I was trying not to spew my guts, I'd probably be committing sexual assault on my old war-buddy. Not fun.

As we finally crested the last peak of Mount Nibel and started the descent, I was half tempted to ask if Cloud wanted to stop off at Nibelheim. But I thought better of it. After all, he'd been convinced it had burnt down- that his home was gone. Now that someone had burnt _my_ house down, I guess I sympathised with him a little. Only a little.

Eventually (and after Vinnie's stupid emo-bo had stopped to fertilise Mount Nibel's indigenous vegetation), we reached the bottom, and the next leg of our journey: travel sickness heaven.

Luckily, Fenrir wasn't about to go over anything large and mountain shaped, so I didn't actually have to grope Cloud as much as I thought I would. All I had to be careful of, Cloud helpfully informed me, was the tiny and very well disguised button that would cause Fenrir's sides to pop open and bristle with lots of pointy swords. Which, considering our slightly ill designed seating arrangements, he thought might accidentally, y'know, stab me a little. Goody.

The second unfortunate thing was that, whilst Cloud was used to having something large vibrating between his legs, I certainly wasn't. I _may_ have squeaked, just a little bit, when he turned the engine on. This led to what might have, just possibly, been the most awkward silence in the entire history of the world. After twenty seconds, he slowly turned around and said, "Don't worry. Tifa did the same thing."

I couldn't imagine how things could possibly get any worse.

Until we started moving, of course. Then I realised that Barret's tales of how freaking _insane_ Cloud had been when he stole that motorbike from the Shinra building were not exaggerated. The man drives like a lunatic. A pretty damn skilful lunatic, but a lunatic. I mean, the driving in Edge is pretty bad, but you haven't seen anything until your driver decides to take a hundred-and-fifty miles per hour detour through a freaking forest.

The upshot of this was that I was so terrified I couldn't even do the decent thing and eject my lunch all over the back of his coat. I was too occupied with trying not to scream. I remembered something Cid had said aboard the Highwind: "Brat, you start screaming at this kind of speed, a fly'll hit the roof of your mouth and go straight through." And I was pretty keen to keep myself hole free, even if he was kidding.

Still, it wasn't _that_ bad. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a thrill. I'll never be fazed by the Speed section of the Golden Saucer again. You get used to it, after a while (although, by the time I'd managed it, Cloud had already jumped the gorge in Cosmo Canyon and rattled our asses through three forests), and you start being able to pick out the obstacles that you'd hit if Cloud didn't move at exactly the last second and slingshot you into the path of another obstacle. And, again, my ride remained pleasantly vomit free...right up until the moment when Cloud decided he wanted to skid sideways to a halt.

The first thing I heard was a screech as the guts of the bike protested at the rough treatment. The second was the bite of the tires into gravel, just like when the dragon at Nibel was crushing the rocks. The third thing I heard was someone screaming. It was probably me.

Then, a jolt, and suddenly my fingers were crushing themselves into Cloud's coat. I could feel heat, like carpet burn, on my fingers. My nails sunk into the fabric and immediately began to ache. Then, another jolt (I could almost feel my stomach hit my windpipe), and my nails didn't ache, they _screamed_, like they were loose teeth without anaesthetic. I didn't even realise that I'd screwed my eyes shut until I felt the water trickling from them, eked out by the speed and the pain. And finally, finally, we stopped.

"Cloud, I hate you. So damn _much,_" I hissed, tugging my fingers from his coat.

"That's nice. I suppose we're even for the Wutai Materia Affair, then," he mumbled. He started to get off the bike, which tilted and moved as his weight shifted. And after _my _ride, that was all it took.

Needless to say, whilst we're even for the Wutai Materia Affair, we've still not managed to patch up the Gongaga Vomit-Coat Palaver.

I have to say that, regardless of Cloud's driving or the loss of my lunch, Gongaga has to be one of my favourite places in the entire world. It's just so..._raw_. The people were tough, the trees were tough, the monsters were tough- put it all together, and it was something you couldn't see anywhere else in the entire world, especially not my Dad's version of Wutai. And it was properly raw, too, right down to the broken branches; so, not like pretty little Vinny, the guy who, despite basically renting his soul out to a pack of Halloween rejects, looks confused when he's given less than three spoons with which to eat an egg. Where he picked up such rod-in-the-ass table manners, I have no clue.

Of course, it isn't Cloud's favourite place. Tifa says it's the place where his dead friend's family live, or something like that. It's also the place he woke up after going completely apeshit and giving the Black Materia to Your Friendly Neighbourhood Nut-Job, only to find out that Aerith had snuck off whilst he was catching his forty. And that was a pretty black day for all of us.

This, obviously, did not improve his mood after the coat-splattering.

After yelling at me not to eat anything (and backing up his point by brandishing that big old butter-knife of his), he stalked off to the inn, presumably to see if low-temperature washing powder was one of the many innovations to have crept into Gongaga in the years after Sephiroth's war. I watched him go, pulling Vince's spare cloak closer around myself. Had it always been this cold in Gongaga? And in the summer, too. Weird.

Unfortunately, wearing Sir-Gimp-A-Lot's cloak reminded me of him, and how he'd wanted me to train up so I didn't, y'know, die. The Gongaga jungle was actually a pretty nice place to do just that, on account of it having lots of trees and bushes to hide in and make sneak attacks. Yup, I could probably do some good ninja-ing in Gongaga.

Doing my pre-battle inspection like a good little girl, I pulled the Waruitori out of my back pocket, and flicked it back into battle shape. It was actually more battered than when I last got it out, and some of the dragon blood had soaked into the paper. Ugh. The more I used it, the more I was beginning to realise that it wasn't exactly the Oritsuru. And if Cloud and Vinny's emo senses were tingling, I was probably going to want myself a good weapon. In fact, scratch the Vinny part. Even if it was just Cloud's emo senses, we were in trouble, and I didn't need to be relying on Vinny and his emo powers.

So, I took myself on a little wander to the Weapon Shop, which had actually been bought up by a big ol' chain store now, called Smitheys. Smitheys- because every civilian needs a weapon in their pocket. (Mind you, this _was_ Gongaga. And they did basically live in a monster infested jungle.)

It was actually a pretty nice shop, for Gongaga. Nice, solid oak door, polished floors, fifty bazillion gigawatt lights on the ceiling- exactly the kind of place you didn't expect to see in a jungle. There were weapons of all kinds, arranged in glass shelves, just like butterflies in a museum. There was some weird stuff there even I hadn't seen, and you gotta remember that our group ran around regularly finding replacements for Barret's gun arm and Red's razor hairclips. They did a nice line in whips, so I made a mental note of Shera's birthday present. The guy at the counter, a young dude with more spots than teeth, looked at me like I was a piece of meat as I searched frantically for the shuriken section.

"Hey, you got any ninja stars?" I called, waving my arm behind me.

A beat or two, then a nasal reply. "Nope. But we've got some good pistols in rack seven."

I waved my arm again, irritated. "I didn't _ask_ for pistols. Got any kunai, then?"

"Nope. You might wanna try Wutai if you're into that ninja junk."

I resisted the urge to snort.

"You got any knives, then? I could make do with a knife." I tried again.

"Sure. Rack eleven."

I went over to have a look, still concious that the guy was looking at me as if I were a million gil nailed to the back of a pot of spot cream. The selection of knives was actually pretty brilliant. I settled on one with a huge leaf-shaped blade and two materia slots in the handle. I pulled out my purse...

And remembered there was nothing in it. The lights (so damn bright! Like I was in a lab or something) beamed down on the fifty or so gil I'd found down the back of Cid's couch.

I wondered, momentarily, if Cloud would give me a loan. Until I realised that the knife I wanted had a 3500 gil price tag on it. And it was probably gonna take that much to get my lunch out of his coat.

I sighed, and pondered. I really was going to need a better weapon, no doubt about that. And Cloud wasn't gonna fork out 7000 gil to bail me out- he grimaced when he bought potions, for goodness' sake. So, it looked like there was no way I was getting myself shiny new knife for Christmas.

I left the shop, and filled my lungs with the good jungle air. It'd smelt way too sterile in Smitheys. The whole shop had felt weird. And the counter guy was a perv. Really, I wouldn't feel even the least bit guilty about what I was going to do. I wandered over to the inn, and waited for night to fall.

Yup, there was no way I was getting myself a shiny new knife for Christmas. Not without a light tread, a lockpick and some awfully sticky fingers.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this is so incredibly late. I was actually very stuck on how to continue it (and writing an entire 'wow, I'm on Cloud's bike' chapter didn't really agree with me). One of the reasons this is so late is because, unlike pretty much everything else I write, it has no schedule, not even a forgotten one. I've now amended that; I'm aiming to write it every three days, with an view to have a complete chapter every three weeks. Thanks to everyone for having patience with me, and sorry for the delays!


	14. High Time For Crime

_Chapter 13: High Time for Crime

* * *

_

Of all the places you shouldn't rob, the weapons store is one of them. That was one of the chunks of wisdom my dear old dad have given me, and true to form I was going to ignore it.

He had a point, though.

Because, in the weapons store, you tend to find, y'know, weapons. You also tend to find a clerk who spends his or her entire day surrounded by weapons, and who is paid to know a fair bit about, you guessed it, weapons. Also, anyone who spends their time surrounded by weapons is gonna go nuts eventually, and the entire damn populace is hoping some thief gives them an excuse to vent before they climb a church spire and start shooting.

So, you're probably going to die. But that's you, and I'm me. And they had a big knife that I had my eye on.

I left the inn, as always, through the window. Really, I don't know why they bother having doors. I mean, yeah, _normal_ people use them, but it's a little passée when you're planning a burglary. It isn't a burglary unless you leave through the window. Fact.

Outside, the moon was shining through the leaves of a few old rebel trees that had invaded from the Gongagan jungle. I landed in a helpfully placed bush. Not-so-helpfully, it was a bush filled with something very green, very rough and very stingy. And although I was wearing Vinny's cloak, I'd forgotten to jack his leather trousers.

With nothing better to do, I started swearing. That seemed to help.

After extracting myself from what I later learned was poison ivy, I got on with the task at hand. To avoid the moonrays, I took the roundabout route through the jungle, praying to Leviathan that there were no monsters nearby.

It's always fun, sneaking through the jungle. You never know what you might find, and every sensation seems a little bit more sinister, a little bit more meaningful. You feel something tickle your leg, and you whirl around, ready to deliver some stabby death to whatever's feeling you up. Then, you realise it's just a plant and breathe a sigh of relief. Then, you realise it's actually a monster plant and go into stabby death mode again. It's something to do.

The problem with ducking into the jungle to avoid the moonlight is that, well, you avoid the moonlight, so it's kinda dark. And when it's kinda dark, you don't know exactly where your feet are going.

Until you hear the squelch. And the smell hits your nostrils.

Now, I was a little annoyed at this point. First I'd fallen into a bush of poison ivy, then I'd stepped in a huge, steaming pile of monster droppings. And all this after I'd thrown up on Cloud's coat and been leered at by the cloister of pus-volcanoes that passed for a weapons store clerk. In short, I'd had a bad day and now I was having a bad night. I was starting to wonder whether I was up to the whole robbery thing.

Then I remembered that I was Yuffie _freaking_ Kisaragi. And if there's anything Yuffie Kisaragi is good at, it's robbing idiots.

So, I groaned, wiped off the monster refuse on a tree, and made a mental note to buy new shoes as soon as possible.

I started moving again, but my legs stopped still, like they were made of iron and there was a magnet under the ground. Instantly, the entire jungle seemed to come to life in all its tropical glory as my ninja senses tingled. Something had rustled on a weird way. I closed my eyes, concentrating on finding the sound, remembering it. But as I listened, it was like there were a hundred rustles, all different, none of them the one I'd heard. Without realising it, I started breathing harder, exhaling long and deep, like steam being vented.

I heard it again- the faint rustle. The pattern of it was wrong; it was too short. Too short for a four legged beast, but maybe just enough for a two legged one? I concentrated harder, ignoring the clammy sheen of sweat that had broken out over my arms.

The problem was all the other rustles. There must've been hundreds of monsters, big and small, in that jungle, and more than a few of them were nocturnal. All the movement was creating noises, noises I didn't want. Usually, I'd just filter them out, ignore them, let them fade into the background like I'd been taught in my ninja training. But somehow I _couldn't_. Maybe Vinnie was right- I needed more training before I'd be back up to my regular strength.

The faint smell of monster dung drifted into my nostrils.

Almost instantly, my concentration shattered, and I was yoinked back from the idyll of my mind. I gasped and spluttered, sucking in huge lungfuls of air. I hadn't remembered to breathe properly. My entire body felt cold with sweat. The trees seemed closer than before, and I felt a chill of claustrophobia shoot through my shoulders.

I couldn't be sure the noise I'd heard was significant. I hadn't been able to get a good read on it before I'd lost concentration. The only thing I knew was that going into the jungle at night had been a pretty big mistake.

Following that grandest of ninja traditions, I cheesed it- out of the jungle, and towards the Weapon Shop.

* * *

Whilst I was busy playing Robin Hood and punishing Smithy's for being rip-off merchants (whoever runs the Gold Saucer, start running, because you're next), little did I know that drama was unfolding elsewhere.

Drama without me? I know, right? Doesn't seem possible, but hey. I didn't think Red could cough up a furball, but hell, did he prove me wrong. All over the floor of the buggy, too. (Like I wasn't feeling bad enough with the travel sickness...)

Anyways. I didn't know it at the time, but there was some weird stuff going on in Gongaga. The jungle was hiding something pretty deep, in between the evil plant monsters I stabbed to death and the steaming present I'd stepped in. It turned out that the rustle I'd heard _was_ significant. Very significant. And if I'd actually been ninja enough to go and investigate the cause, I'd probably have been killed in a very painful, drawn out and splatty way.

Luckily, I didn't, which means you get some more story. Awesome, huh? You can thank me later.

* * *

Deftly, I loosened the last screw on the vent. I pulled it out with a jerk, and the grille started to fall. Quickly, I caught it, holding it like a picture frame, and lowered it onto the ground in silence.

I freaking _hate_ Weapons Shops.

The building was pretty modern for Gongaga. It had a flat roof with a vent on it, which was basically a giant ninja catflap. (Also, very useful for any visiting aliens. There are always aliens in the vents.) But it also had nice, strong walls, made out of well-poured concrete and covered in plaster on the outside. Meaning, no handholds. Now, I'm a ninja. Ninja can climb anything. But I was also a ninja that was not feeling so hot. And whilst I could still climb anything, I couldn't do it without barking my shins. Really badly. These were the same shins I'd wrapped in poison ivy earlier. Yeah.

But, hey. I was on the roof now, and I'd managed to open the vent without any real mishaps. That was something. Grinning, I gripped the lip of the vent, and threw myself into it.

I should probably say that I have a habit of approaching vents in the same way I approach waterslides. They're a lot of fun, but if you take the water away you're gonna get major friction burns on your ass. And, sadly, most vents are not full of water.

I know what you're thinking. Yeah, I was feeling fuzzy, but not _that_ fuzzy.

The vent was pointing downwards at a pretty steep gradient, maybe thirty degrees. So, I decided the best thing to do was to brace my arms and legs against the sides and control the speed a little. Y'see, that's why I think vents were invented by a man. They're like waterslides, they house aliens, and the only way to get down one without friction burns is to spread your legs.

Eventually, the angle bottomed out and the vent hit horizontal. (Again. What is it with vents and innuendos?) So, I got on my hands and knees and started crawling.

Just to let you know, once you get past the whole 'whee, vents are like waterslides' bit, they're not actually very nice places. The first thing about vents is the claustrophobia. I mean, Captain Coffin probably wouldn't have minded, but usually you don't even have enough room to scratch your ass. And there's this thing, which humans need to, like, survive. It's called oxygen, and when you're in a vent, there is never, ever enough of it. And the heat! God damn. You know how the turkey feels when you wrap it in foil and turn the oven on? No? Then you've obviously never been in a vent. And THAT's without the mandatory killer space aliens that hide in them. Nope, vents are not nice at all.

My sweaty hands started sticking to the metal as I was crawling, and every time I lowered them there was a wet slap which bounced, endless, from wall to steel wall. I already knew it would happen. It always did. Everything you do in a vent is quieter on the outside than inside, but you never know how _much_ quieter. So, there's still a damn good chance that there are going to be guards with pointy sticks waiting at the other end, laughing at your pitiful attempts to not get your ass punctured by hiding in a vent.

Luckily, vents, unlike Reeve's lectures, _do_ eventually have an end. And, after fifteen or so minutes of awesome ninja shuffling, I reached it. I grabbed one of the slats with my left hand, then started loosening the screws. When I was done, the vent started to fall outwards, but I still had a pretty good hold of it. I lowered it to the floor without a sound.

There's always a temptation, with this kind of thing, to default to the three-point formula that video games and TV and stuff may have shown you. It goes like this: Stealth up, melee, shove in a locker. (As opposed to the less popular and far crazier version: stealth up, melee, shove in a locker, take them out, kill them, cook them and eat them.) Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that.

Gather 'round, kids. It's time for another lesson from Kisaragi's Klepto Corner: guns freaking _hurt_.

They hurt when people hit you with them. They hurt when people shoot you with them. They hurt when _you_ shoot them. And god-_damn_ do they hurt when Vinny fricking Valentine decides that rubber bullets are a good idea. Guns are a bad, bad thing, even worse than needles and plant monsters and having to wash Barret's underwear. (Don't ask. If I told you, I'd have to kill you.) Stay the hell away from them.

Unfortunately, most people who run weapons shops will generally rush right past the katanas and the shuriken and all the other, _sensible_ weapons of instant stabby death, and go straight for the guns. Every time.

So, you do not want to meet most people. Which also means you don't want to stealth up and melee them, and never mind about shoving their flabby carcass into a locker. (You _could_ eat them, if you know what I mean, but that really depends who you are. Vincent the melancholy man-whore would do it, but me? I've got _standards_. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise.)

Oh, and the unlimited number of armed guards? Yeah, _no._ Which makes it easier.

Fortunately, I'd already allowed for the possibility that the facility was patrolled by ignoring it. Only an idiot would try and rob a weapons shop, so only an idiot would want to set patrols to catch them. Ninja logic 101. (Don't apply the same concept to prison. It doesn't work.)

Ninjas are awesome, their logic is awesome, and I am awesome. So, as I hauled my ass out of the vent (shooting glances around for CCTV cameras), I was satisfied to note that there were no patrols in sight, and no sign that there would be.

The vent had let me out into the area that's usually hidden behind the 'staff only, on pain of death, plague and pestilence' sign, a long corridor with a double door at either end. I'd always kind of wondered what was behind them, although I sorta figured that it'd be something nice and cosy, like a staff room. Mind you, Smithy's was so rich that the staff room would have taps which provided hot and cold running myrrh. I digress.

Either way, it was like the rest of the weapon shop- smooth, polished floors, bleached white walls, and lightbulbs you could use to fry eggs. It smelt of chlorine and rubber, and my goosebumps arched up when the cold air in the corridor hit my skin. In the sterile environment, I was gratifying to realise that, actually, I smelled. Of monster poop and sweat. So, still better than Cloud.

I ignored the door leading into the darker depths of the shop, and set out towards my destination: the customer area, and that big, shiny knife. I pushed open the double door tentatively, repeating my camera checking ritual.

It took me only a few seconds, even in the half light, to get to the place where the knife (soon to be _my_ knife) was kept. It was in a glass box, locked with a padlock. I almost burst out laughing.

In about fifteen seconds, I was done with the padlock, and lifted the case to take out my prize. I was still cautious, though. There'd been no patrols, no CCTV. Even for a weapons shop, that was taking security pretty damn lightly. And those glass boxes would be the perfect place to put weight sensitive alarms. Tensing my muscles so I'd be ready to run when I heard the screech of the alarm, I reached in and took the knife.

Nothing.

Now my hackles were definitely up. Something was very, very wrong with this setup. No cameras, no patrols, _and_ no alarms? It couldn't be true. But I wasn't going to stick around to look my gift horse in the mouth. I could think about it after I'd escaped.

Then, an idea struck me. It seemed almost...perverse. It couldn't possibly work. So I tried it.

I walked, slowly, up to the front door. And, sure enough, it opened with that annoying grace that automatic doors always have. They hadn't even locked it.

I thought about it for a couple of seconds, and concluded that someone, somewhere, was messing with my goddamn head. But hey- I'd gotten a free knife out of it. I put it (carefully) in my pocket, and rushed back to the Inn.

_

* * *

_

I entered the Inn through the window, making sure not to touch the poison ivy again. I couldn't be bothered with the innkeeper's stares and questions. (But I could be bothered to climb up a house. Go figure.)

When I got in, the first thing I registered was Cloud's coat hanging on the door. Vomit-free, of course. You've gotta be thankful for small graces.

The second thing I registered was the distinct lack of Cloud.

It wasn't like I was worried, of course. Even though Cloud's not quite as fond of an active nightlife as I am, he's still the biggest, or at least the second biggest badass on the planet. And whilst I'm aware 'badass' is not a stat, I think it still helps him in battle. Mainly because everything which possess a brain decides to run.

But I was suspicious. The rustles, and the no-security weapons shop, had made me a little paranoid. So, I decided the best thing to do was to search his pockets. I wasn't going to steal anything- honest. But even if I had wanted to, there was nothing. Only Fenrir's keys and his mobile phone.

My nerves were starting to prickle. Cloud never took off his coat if he was going anywhere- Boobs had complained about it so many times it was getting ridiculous. And Fenrir's keys meant that he wasn't even using his bike, so he wasn't having a midnight joyride.

I turned the light on. And now I wasn't in the gloom, something very important caught my eye.

Sitting on the bedside table was a used syringe, the needle jutting out arrogantly over the place where Cloud had been.

* * *

A/N: Yup, more twists and turns. For anyone wondering about wondering where the three week thing went, it was actually going great. Three weeks is long enough for me to have a good old think about the plot, and write a decent amount. Three weeks is also long enough for me to catch plague and not be able to do any of those things. However, I'm currently on holiday from school, so hopefully I should be able to catch up a little.


	15. Not All Bad Guys Are Bondage Slaves

_Chapter 14: Not All Bad Guys Are Bondage Slaves

* * *

_

I kept my calm. Cloud was gone, possibly in danger, and I needed to find him. So, I did what any cool-headed, professional ninja would have done.

I swore. Repeatedly.

In between calling his mother a bitch-slag and making unfavourable comparisons between his gentleman's area and a snapped matchstick, I rummaged around in his bag to see if there was anything I could use. My eye caught a tell-tale gleam and my hand moved, all of its own accord, to grab the treasure.

I felt my face light up as I examined its red shininess. Oh, yeah. Yuffie scored some materia, baby. Summon materia, too. That'd fit pretty snugly in my new knife, along with Vinny's spare Restore. Things were looking up on the 'Yuffie gives stabby death as opposed to receiving it' front.

The problem, of course, was that I had no idea what kind of Summon materia it was.

Y'see, after the whole 'I stole all your stuff' thing with Cloud, he got kinda protective over the good stuff. And seeing as summon materia is pretty much unique, it qualifies as the good stuff. He let me keep Leviathan, but only because I pretty much glued it into my weapon. And Leviathan was back at home, in my house, probably the only thing that _didn't _burn down.

And, of course, it's kinda a bad idea to summon something without knowing what it is. On one hand, it might be Ifrit, which would be pretty awesome for Gongaga's jungle monsters. On the other hand, it might be Bahamut ZERO. Which would still be pretty awesome, but which would probably end up nuking Gongaga, too. And then people would be angry at me, and chase me, and that'd be bad. Somehow. (There was an incident some time ago when we accidentally wiped out an entire city because Cloud thought it'd be a good idea to use mime and chain summon Odin. It was full of rat people, weirdly. Luckily, no one remembers it.)

But, summon materia _is_ shiny. And red. People know when you're packing summons. So, even if I didn't plan on _actually_ using it, I could bluff. Maybe.

It wasn't exactly a good plan (it was more of a 'technical suicide if your opponent isn't a complete dribbling idiot' plan), but Cloud wasn't getting any less kidnapped. I got the feeling that he was out there, crying, because no one wanted to play with him. No, I'm serious. The guy gets lonely. So, really, it was only a matter of time before he tore his shirt into strips (down, fangirls, down!) and tied them into a noose. And that would leave me, stranded, in the middle of nowhere (formerly know as Gongaga), with the prospect of wheeling his heavy ass bike back to Rocket Town. Honestly, screw _that_.

Without further ado, I threw myself out of the window again, carefully missing the poison ivy, and rushed back towards the jungle. The weird noises I'd heard earlier probably came from Cloud. In fact, maybe he'd been out looking for me. It was possible. (Hey, he's actually way nicer these days than he was in Sephiroth's war. All I can say is that Tifa has his ass whipped, in every single way.)

Of course, first I had to get back to where I was when I heard the noises. A place which I'd thoughtfully (and entirely on purpose), marked by stepping in a big pile of monster crap. You see? There's a method in the madness, mostly. Admittedly, part two of the method always involves death magic and ninja stars, neither of which I had, but I'd be fine.

I was, of course, doing the most awesome trick magicians ever jacked from ninjas: distraction. Except, because I wasn't a magician, and I wasn't _really_ up to being a ninja yet, I managed to screw up and use it on myself. Y'see, there was something I should really have been thinking about, but I was too busy looking for a pile of crap with my boot-print in it to do much thinking. The fact was, there wasn't really much sign of a struggle back in the room. Even if they'd tranq'd his ass (hence the syringe), he'd still have given them hell. I mean, gawd, he was knocking back Tranquillisers every day back in the Jenova War. He kept saying they increased his defence or something crazy like that. Druggies- what can you do with them?

Anyway, the fact that he hadn't struggled, and that none of his stuff got jacked (until I got there, of course) meant that he'd gone out of his own accord. So he really could be looking for me. In which case, what was in the syringe? Had Cloud switched from tranqs to hypers in a desperate effort to cure his debilitating Emo syndrome? To find put, tune in next time, on CSI: Gongaga.

Just as I was getting to _about_ the place where I thought I might have stood in something nasty, my search was ended by by a long, drawn out _krrrrring._

For those not familiar with the terminology, _krrrrring _is the sound Cloud makes when he's trying to draw it from the sheathe as scarily as possible. Write it down in your dictionary, people. If your life is anything like mine, you'll be hearing it a hell of a lot.

My ninja instinct told me that the best thing to do was to turn around and run like a coward all the way back to the inn. I tend to not like getting in Cloud's way when he's in a fight. (Hey, the guy had a habit of swinging his damn sword around his freaking head after he won, and every time he did it I almost died. He blatantly never had sword safety lessons, else he would have put a sword-condom over it. Also, did he _have_ to whistle a victory theme every time we won?) However, I was kinda obliged to help because, let's face it, Tifa would have my ass on a platter if something happened to him and I could have prevented it. So, I rushed towards the noise, like Barret towards a pork joint.

I cleared the last bush and burst through to the source of the_ krrrrring._ Lo and behold, standing in a clearing under the bright Gongagan moon was Cloudy McDrugfiend. And standing a few feet away on the opposite side were as group of four people, three of whom I knew and wished I didn't.

"Yuffie. Glad you're here," Cloud deadpanned, as though I'd just turned up at his birthday party without a present. "I was just about to finish up."

I didn't reply, because I was still reeling from seeing three of my 'friends'. Standing opposite me were Tommy Gun Tony and Johnny Darkhair from Wutai Port. And standing behind them was _Shelke._

"Yuffie Kisaragi. What a surprise," she said, in exactly the same tone as Cloud.

Now, I was surprised to see Shelke there, I'll admit. I was even more surprised by her fashion sense. She'd gotten rid of the pink dress she used to wear (as well as the puffy vomit shirts Vince seemed to _think_ she wore. I couldn't picture them on her. Maybe Vince was knocking back Tranquillisers too...) and was now wearing what were, for all intents and purposes, army fatigues. Like, really feminine army fatigues, but still.

Although, I'm glad to say that she still had her weird, glowy sword-things. I'm _less_ glad to say that she was pointing them at me.

"That's her, Captain. The one who got my frickin' arm!" Darkhair hissed.

The one guy in the clearing that I didn't know turned around and had a good look at me. I got a good luck at him, too. He was tallish, maybe a couple inches shorter than Vinny was, with a shaggy mane of black hair that even Red couldn't have sniffed at. It wasn't nearly as smooth as Darkhair's, and seemed a lot less, well, washed. Oh, what I wouldn't give to find a villain with personal hygiene...

"Well, damn. Hey, Kisaragi," he said, in the most phenomenally mellow voice I've ever heard. If his vocal cords were people, they'd be sleeping in a hammock on a tropical island, completed wasted on coconut fumes or something.

"Shall I shoot her, Captain Halloween?" Tommygun Tony asked, shaking said tommygun at me.

His boss shot him a glare. "How many times have I told you, Tony, that you should call me Hal?"

"But, Captain Halloween, I thought you just told us that to promote teamwork!" Tony stammered.

"What?" the boss asked despairingly. "I didn't do it for your benefit, you oaf. What do you take me for, a-"

"Wait, wait, wait. Your name's _Halloween_?" I broke in. "Gawd, this isn't going to be like the whole 'Deepground Name Theme' thing, is it? Because, I mean, I'll fight you, but I ain't fighting Christmas and Kwanzaa afterwards."

"You see?" Halloween said, waving his hand around at Tony. "_That_ is why you call me Hal. Honestly, why does everyone make fun of my name? So I had stupid parents. Big whoop."

"Stupid parents, huh? That would explain it. You look like no one ever taught you how to dress yourself," I carried on. Actually, it wasn't that bad. He looked more like a college student than an actual villain, but hey, not all villains are silver haired bondage slaves. Although, in my experience, a good proportion of them are.

"Back to business," Cloud cut in curtly, waving his sword around a bit. I'd actually forgotten about him. Although, he'd probably just been standing there wondering what the hell was going on.

"Oh, yeah," 'Hal' replied, his vocal cords going back to druggie on the beach mode. "Well, Miss Rui, finish talking to Strife. No hurry."

"Boss, Kisaragi _cut off my arm. _Aren't we going to _do_ something?" Darkhair hissed.

Hal waved his hand again, like he was batting off a fly. "Oh, and when you're done, ask him where Barret got his gun-arm installed. Really appreciate it."

The thing is, you're listening to this thinking it was hilarious and that the bad guys were so laughably incompetent that all sense of threat had disappeared. But, lemme tell ya, it was actually pretty surreal. I was standing in the middle of the Gongagan jungle watching Cloud wear his serious face, Shelke wear army fatigues, and everyone else wearing on their patience. And on top of that, you had the Bad Guy Trio of Tom, Dick and Halloween. Honestly, it was starting to get creepy. I preferred it back when the bad guys just rolled up and shot us.

"Shelke, we've got nothing to talk about," Cloud snarled. I praised whatever gods existed (except for Cid). The sooner we got out of here, the better.

"I agree, Cloud Strife. If you won't listen to reason, I shall subdue you," she replied.

I have to admit, I laughed a little bit. It came out as a snort and everyone looked at me like I was crazy. But, honestly. Shelke? Kick _Cloud's_ ass? Something's wrong with that there equation. Y'know, like a couple of feet worth of height, a big weight advantage and a freaking massive sword that splits into two.

Truth is, I was kinda looking forwards to it. Y'see, I don't actually _like_ Shelke. I mean, I think it started back when she was an emotionless mindslave and she called her dead sister (a woman I personally respected) a fool, and I slapped her for it. That wasn't really a good first impression, and I haven't really gotten along with her since. So, yeah; ickle Shelke versus big bad Cloud Strife, one of the biggest heroes on the planet. Bring it on.

Unfortunately, my mouth got in the way. Again.

"Wait, wait. You're gonna fight us? So, you're with the bad guys? What'd Vinny say about that?" I butt in. Vinny was the second point of argument between Shelke and me. In peacetimes, Vinny was pretty much her bitch. And he should've been _my_ bitch, just like everyone else.

"We're not the bad guys. You are."

"Oh, shut up, _Hal_. I've got a brand new knife and I'm perfectly willing to gut you and sell you as chocobo meat," I hissed.

"New knife?" Cloud asked, tilting his eyes at me in a way that told me he wasn't impressed.

"Yup. Stole it from the weapon shop," I replied, with a little bit of pride. Admittedly there was no security, at all, but I still say I stole it.

"See? You stole something. Stealing is wrong, Q.E.D, we're the good guys and you're the bad guys," Hal piped up.

"I stole from a faceless corporation. It's a victimless crime, like jacking Zeio nuts from goblins."

"So, just because the victim isn't human, it makes it okay? You'd get pretty pissy if I started building mako reactors because the only thing it hurts is the Planet."

"That's different. Aerith gave her life for the planet, and she was as good as a sister to me."

"Family loyalty, huh? Hey, didn't you recently _judo flip your dad?_"

Yeah, I really preferred it when they just rolled up and shot us.

"...I think we should organise ourselves in terms of competence. Yuffie, you go over there and join them. Shelke, you're with me," Cloud sniped. Chocobo-headed ass maggot.

Thing is, I wasn't _just_ brutally whipping the villain's asses in a verbal war. I was also calculating whether Shelke would survive a blast from Bahamut. I figured, yeah, she's a pretty tough kid. Mako infusions and all that. From that perspective, I was completely justified in nuking all four of the weirdos back into atoms. (Yeah, that whole 'bluff' thing? I shelved that as soon as I realised we were dealing with complete idiots.) Then, we could just pick up Shelke, use some of Cloud's drug stash to keep her subdued, ship her back to Vinny second class in a very small box, and _he_ could find out what in the name of hell she was doing waving her energy swords at us in a twilit Gongagan jungle. Scenting the perfect plan, I drew my knife.

"You intend to fight me, Yuffie Kisaragi?" Shelke asked.

"Well, yeah. Pretty much," I whistled. Congratulations, Shelke: weapons mean fighting. That's a real breakthrough, there.

"How futile. You are not competent enough to defeat me," she monotoned. Great, so in the time since Vince busted her ass out of Deepground, she got some character development and went from being an emotionless monster to just being a plain old bitch. That really helped my opinion of her.

"No, but I bet Bahamut is!" I grinned, and started the spell. Everyone's jaw fell, Cloud's included, when they realised what I was trying to do. Shelke rushed forwards to try and cut it off, her swords leaving luminescent trails in the night air, but she was too late; before she could even get halfway across the clearing, Cloud and I had disappeared safely into the aether. (By the way, it's the weirdest sensation you could possibly imagine. Unsettling, too. Usually, by the time I can look down and stop concentrating on the spell, my boobs are just disappearing. I _need_ those. And you always end up really hungry afterwards.)

For a moment, nothing happened. Titan didn't pop out of the ground. Ramuh didn't toss his staff into the ground and start frying everyone. I was actually pretty worried it _had_ been Bahamut ZERO, and any moment now the entire place was gonna get annihilated from space. And then, I felt it, deep in the pit of my aetherised stomach. A rumbling. Not rumbling, like, hungry rumbles, but rumbles that bounce up the ground through your legs and rattle your teeth. Something was coming. And fast. It got closer, and closer, until-

Something big, fluffy, and suspiciously yellow hit Shelke head on. A short dust-cloud, and then it was gone, and Half-Pint was out cold. As we re-materialised, I got a sudden and very justified urge to kill Cloud Strife.

"...Well. That's...uh...remarkable. I can honestly say I've not seen _that_ on any simulator," Hal commented. His grunts nodded in agreement.

"...it got the job done, didn't it?" Cloud muttered.

"Uh...Well, there isn't much point in having Shelke try to persuade you if she's out cold. So, uh, we'll just be going."

I lurched forwards as soon as I saw Hal's hands hit his pockets, but I was too slow. He flicked his wrist downwards and a blinding light blasted the clearing- a flash grenade. By the time I'd stopped seeing a colour kaleidoscope on the back of my eyelids, they were gone, and Shelke with them. I turned to Cloud.

"You brought _Choco/Mog_ materia with you?"

He drew himself up to his full height, brushed a lock of hair from his eyes and said, in his very coolest voice:

"It's my favourite."

I want Vinny back.

* * *

A/N: The next chapter will be a little different, so keep your eyes peeled for it. It'll hopefully end the little plot halcyon I've written myself into.

By the way, thanks for all the support from everyone who's read and reviewed!


	16. A Brief Interlude

_Chapter 15: A Brief Interlude In Which Some Small Weaknesses Of The Narrator Are Outlined And Some Exterior Events Elucidated Upon._

* * *

In the interests of representing an accurate and balanced narrative, this chapter shall be narrated by a different narrator to the one you have grown accustomed to in the scope of this tale. As that narrator, I feel compelled to tell you that practically all the preceding chapters, as well as a great deal of the following ones, are inaccurate and blatantly biased. In some places, they are construed to show events which are nothing like the truth; in others, they construct the truth, but show it in a light that is generally intended to insult someone, generally me. In light of this, I, Vincent Valentine, shall attempt to elucidate events.

Before I begin, please keep in mind that Yuffie Kisaragi is, as a narrator, unreliable. Of course, the word unreliable can be applied to Yuffie in many ways, most of them unfavourable, but in this instance I mean to say that she cannot know everything that has taken place and has occasionally given information which she believes to be truth but which is, in fact, not. This caveat should be kept in mind when dealing with any and all information she feels it necessary to include. I say this simply because if I were to go back and rectify all the inaccuracies of her narrative, I would find myself writing the entire tale again from scratch.

A few major issues: whilst Yuffie has occasionally expressed a balanced opinion of me, I must stress that most of them are merely derogatory without cause. I must stress that I am not any a whore, or any variety or subtype of one. I am not currently aware what an 'emo' is, but am fairly sure that no part of my personality labels me as one. Nor am I a vampire, a zombie, or any member of the legions of undead. And my shoes may well resemble that of a clown, but they are highly functional and enhance the amount of pain delivered from the average kick. On a related note, I have never knowingly induced a case of 'killer death' with my glare, and have serious doubts that the aforementioned 'killer death' is in fact any form of syndrome or illness.

On a purely aesthetic note, I find that underlining is a far more dignified alternative to Yuffie's flagrant and frequent abuse of italics.

And, finally, to rectify an important event alluded to in the narrative. This is, of course, the incident mentioned between Cloud and an amorous chocobo, alleged to have taken place because of five mastered chocobo lure materia, is false. In truth, only three chocobo lures were required, and I can add with absolute certainty that only one chocobo appeared. This is of vital importance to the structure and integrity of the entire account.

That was, of course, a joke. Forgive me.

I have been told, quite rudely, to ensure that my segment reads as a story, and not as a report. When I asked how this was to be accomplished, I was instructed to, "I dunno. You're the big, smart psychopathic murderer. Use some literary techniques or something." I shall attempt to do just this; however, writing is not an easy art and it has been years since I have tried to construct anything in prose. Please have patience.

I am informed that one 'literary technique' is to jump ahead to a part of the story which is immediately suspenseful, exciting or interesting. Therefore, we shall cycle ahead to a point in time roughly thirteen hours and twenty-seven minutes from Yuffie's departure from Rocket Town. At this particular point in time, I was sitting in a tree on Mt. Nibel with my Hydra on my lap, maintaining a balance that could be described as precarious at best.

For my second literary technique, I shall include an anecdote about the subject matter. Trees are hard to climb, and once I was known to have fallen out of one. However, any people who can provide eyewitness testimony to this event are long dead either through age or being shot in the head in the call of duty. This concludes the anecdote.

The reason I was sitting in a tree with my rifle in hand was because I was observing our good friend, the mother dragon. Whilst I am aware that Yuffie was not best pleased with our altercation, I consider it highly beneficial; the effect of her using her limit break was a huge surge in morale for each of us. In addition, dragons are particularly intelligent creatures, in that they are aware of the amazing healing powers of small-scale Lifestream exposure. A wounded dragon will seek out a so-called mako-fountain for treatment of its wounds. Prolonged exposure to the Lifestream, and thus the knowledge of the ancients, is one reason why dragons, as a race, are so resilient to magic: they have simply grown used to it.

My objective was to watch this, and see what happened.

Here is another obligatory joke to lighten the tension: whilst I inferred that dragons were, on the whole, an intelligent race, I would not include my current dragon in that population quota. I shall insert some onomatopoeic laughter in order to enhance the effect of the joke. Ha. Ha ha. This concludes the joke.

Truthfully, this joke is funnier within context, as it was actually true. The dragon was not, as they say, the shiniest bullet in the bunker, and was having great difficulty locating a mako-fountain. Whilst this would not herald stupidity in any other locale, Mount Nibel is full of mako founts. In addition, the dragon had yet to notice and kill me, which would have been taken for stupidity under any circumstance. (Because of this, I am forced to conclude that there are a great many stupid dead people around. Ha. Ha ha. I fear that if I continue to insert witty comments within the thread of my narrative, the chain of events will deteriorate and few will understand what I am talking about. I shall stop.)

I began to entertain the notion that our previous altercation with the dragon had caused a concussion. Whilst I should have been mortified by this and immediately handed myself in to the Protection Of Monsters Association, I found I was relatively unconcerned. Thus is the legacy of my coffin dwelling.

I shall now employ the narrative skip technique again, and immediately fast forward from the point in time where I was observed the less-than-intelligent dragon searching for a mako fountain, to the point where the less-than-intelligent dragon found a mako fountain. You have had fair warning.

As I watched, carefully perched on top of a convenient rocky outcrop (which was less than comfortable, I might add. I have inserted this portion of opinion because it contributes to my anecdote quota.), the dragon lowered its great maw to the fountain and began to drink.

I shall now attempt a 'literary' description of the sound this made. Yuffie has instructed me that, if in doubt, I may follow this simple formula: "There is nothing like the [sensory descriptor] of a [stimulus] [verb ending with ing] [object or stimulus being acted upon]. Name reasons why, usually with comparison to another stimulus." Enforcing this model, I will say:

There is nothing like the sound of a dragon gulping huge swathes of mako from what amounts to a hole in the ground. This is because dragons do not have lips, and their snouts are usually too large to provide effective delivery of mako-to-mouth; this means they must lap, like a large, scaly, incredibly odorous cat, at a spring of ethereal magical energy which may or may not contain the amalgamated souls of your dead friends. Naturally, no one has yet invented a word to convey this sound, but I regret to inform that it is rather closer to slurping than one would like to believe.

However, as I watched, I noticed a few discrepancies between the scene before me and previous knowledge of low-level mako intakes observed in humans. When hit by, for example, a healing spell, there is some marked change in appearance, mainly a freshness of skin and some extra shine in the hair, caused by the body renewing itself magically. (Yuffie was, for a week, so enthralled by this effect that she routinely cast Cure on herself every morning instead of bathing. She then discovered that it was far more humorous to cure Cloud, as the extra shine to his hair made him very conspicuous indeed).

However, in this case, the very opposite happened. There was a reduction in scale sheen, a dulling of the beast's eyes. I made some mental notes to investigate; these were, however, promptly forgotten, as one of the most basic concepts of healing magic began to turn itself inside out.

The dragon's wing, which Yuffie had destroyed, was regenerating.

We do not know exactly how healing magic works. However, we know that it can only heal what is there. You may cast Cure 3 for as long as you desire, but it will not restore your missing arm to you. Otherwise, we may well have equipped Barret with an axe. If you lose a leg, Regen will neither reattach it, nor grow it back. This is a cardinal rule of healing. And somehow, this dragon was breaking it.

However, there were yet more unexpected circumstances to be revealed. As I looked closer, I saw the flesh- for it was flesh, as of yet, raw and without scales- that was slowly growing from the stump was grey. For want of a better word, it was mottled; however, there was something inorganic about it. I would describe it as a mosaic of flesh being built upon the stump, and built badly; it seemed as though it might flake apart at any time, tile by tile.

Hastily, I drew forth a camera with which to capture the evidence, and shot three pictures. Then, I adjusted my position, and shot three more; I have the unfortunate but common habit of placing my thumb over the lens by accident and obscuring shots. Then, taking care to preserve silence on the rocky ground, I fled, intent on transmitting the photographs to Reeve immediately.

* * *

We shall now jump to the point in time where Reeve and I were discussing said photographs over our respective mobile communications devices. I remember it as being a tense and uncomfortable phone call, not least because I was to receive new and dismaying information.

"Reeve," I said as soon as he had favoured me with a hello, "We have problems."

"_Oh, so you've already heard about that?"_ his voice crackled back, with all the tell-tale signs of hesitance.

"That?" I asked.

"_Shelke."_

"No. Explain."

"_Well, Vincent, I understand this must be a shock to you but-"_

"Reeve," I growled.

"_Yuffie and Cloud stopped off in Gongaga because of Yuffie's...travel issues."_

"And?"

"_They met Shelke there. With two guys Yuffie says tried to kill her back when she ran away in Port Wutai."_

"What?"

"_Apparently, she's no longer on our side, Vincent. She was ready to fight Cloud and Yuffie."_

I grit my teeth. Somehow, the thought of Shelke betraying us was far more unpalatable than I had expected it to be. "Are you sure, Reeve?"

"_If it was just Yuffie's account, I might have my doubts...But Cloud's backing her up on this. I think we have to accept that Shelke's working with the enemy for some reason."_

I spat. I was unaccustomed to doing so, but it was the only way I could think of to get the awful taste out of my mouth. It was not just because of Shelke's defection; it was the inferrence that Yuffie was untrustworthy. However, I swallowed my discomfort and got on with the rest of the exchange.

"Did you see the photographs?" I asked.

"_Yes, and I don't like what I see. What the hell is happening on that mountain, Vincent?"_

"I'm not sure," I confessed. "However, I have my theories."

"_Oh?"_ This was Reeve's method of asking me to tell him these theories. I hope this clarifies things for anyone reading; I am aware that exchanges of real life speech can often be difficult to follow, removed from the context.

"We've seen this before, Reeve. The dragons at North Crater...Their entire bodies were corrupted the same way. North Crater was the place where Jenova and Sephiroth had most influence."

"_So, wait. You're telling me it's getting mutations from Jenova cells, straight out of the Lifestream?"_

"It may be so," I said. "We must be careful from now on. If exposure to the Lifestream and the Planet's energy cause mutations such as this, our magic may cause the same thing. After all, it utilises the Planet's knowledge and energy..."

"_If so, I fear we've already lost. Magic was one of the key weapons in defeating Sephiroth...if it now adds to the problem, our chances of winning are basically nil,"_ Reeve replied. The concern was evident in his voice.

"Reeve."

"_Yes?"_

"I'm going to Edge," I said.

"_What? Vincent, we need you to investigate this. The entire planet is on the line, you can't just-"_

"I can and I will, Reeve. If Shelke is after Yuffie, then she's in danger. Cloud and Tifa can handle Shelke easily, but if Yuffie were to become separated from them, in her current condition, I fear Shelke would have the upper hand. And Yuffie is of no help to us dead or disabled," I said, gritting my teeth once again. I disliked making clinical judgements such as this; I had been trying to be more compassionate in my analysis of things up until that point.

"_But, Vincent, I-"_

"In addition, I wish to hear Shelke's reasons for opposing us from her own mouth. She would not join the enemy just to spite us; she must have a valid reason. And if she does, it means that she is aware of something that we are not," I continued.

"_...As you wish. I suppose I'll have to explore other avenues available to us with regards to the issue of capturing research specimens. Please inform everyone that there may be a risk factor in using magic," _Reeve said, and hung up. He was highly displeased, but despite Yuffie's opinion of him (which she has expressed earlier in the narrative), he is a sympathetic man and I trusted that he understood my reasons.

I packed my provisions even more quickly than usual; I needed barely three minutes. Once they were packed, I called my chocobo. (I shall take a brief second to inform you that her name is Chocokee, as insisted upon by Marlene, and she is not an emo-bo or any variant thereof; she is a valuable and trusted partner, as well as useful means of conveyance). Without delay, I set off towards Edge, my phone in my hand to inform everyone about the threat posed by magic. I was to arrive in the city of Edge three days after Yuffie herself- and, as such, as greeted by what can only be described as utter mayhem.

(On a final note, I am quite pleased with how well I wrote this portion of the narrative. I consider it both accurate, informative, and entertaining. I may write a book*.)

_*Editor's Note From Yuffie: This concludes the joke. Ha. Ha ha._

* * *

A/N: Whew. Finally finished this; it was actually highly challenging for me to write. (I'm so used to my narrators having a sense of humour...) Hope you enjoyed it after the overlong hiatus.


	17. Mommy, He Killed Lassie

A/N: Folks, cycle backwards for a moment, to the break of the New Year, 2012. Now, imagine for yourselves a young guy, painfully skinny and awfully lazy, who decides that, as a gesture of seasonal getting-off-his-assness, he would restart an old story that was much loved by a subsection of an online community.

Now imagine it's a whole third of a year later and he's finally gotten around to doing it.

Hell yeah.

* * *

_Chapter 16: Mommy, He Killed Lassie_

* * *

Okay, stop. Before we start up the story again and get to the bit where Awesome McNinja Yuffie finds her mojo, saves the world and shanks Shelke in the ass, I have a couple things to clear up real quick.

First of all, Vincent is a whore. He is the biggest whore in all known history, in all the known world. Ever. There are cave paintings and hieroglpyhics detailing just how easy it is to get into his pants, if you have the patience to remove those stupid leather trousers. In fact, I'm pretty sure half of the current population of the world is a direct result of his colossal whoredom. Not the half I'm in, obviously. That'd just be _weird_.

Secondly, you think _I'm_ an unreliable narrator? Really, Vince? Okay, let's play a game. It's called 'Take a shot every time Clownshoes has vital information and doesn't fancy telling me about it.' No, go on, the story will wait. It'll wait a long time, obviously, seeing as you're going to have to die of alcohol poisoning, reincarnate and then make your way back here, but hey, at least I'm promoting Boobs' business.

Seriously, I don't wanna hear about 'unreliable' from a guy who couldn't even set a goddamn alarm clock and save himself fifty years of being a whiny little bitch.

Okay, we're ready to start now. Contrary to what Captain Anecdote said when he finished fulfilling his fail quota all over my awesome story, we're gonna pick up at the bit where me and Cloud rode triumphantly into Edge, with the sun shining above us and life finally starting to look okay again.

Psyche, we're skipping to the bit where Mr. Road Safety skidded into Gloomsberg at six hundred miles an hour and totalled a dog.

"Oh my gawd, Cloud. _Please_ tell me we didn't just take out some kid's pooch," I whined as Cloud got off the bike to inspect the damage. To the dog, obviously, not Fenrir. I mean, Cloud's an ass, but he's not _that_ much of an ass.

He looked it up and down for a moment. From where I was sitting, it looked like a huge, brown, shaggy doormat, and a pretty damn dead one at that. Cloud, however, murmured appreciatively, so maybe he knew a bit more than I did. You never know, maybe one of the deadly arts they teach you when you work for Shinra is how to be a veterinarian. Nothing stops the invading armies of doom like a vaccination against myxmatosis.

"Give it a quick blast of Cure and some tranquillisers. It'll be fine," he said eventually, and after a little bit of hesitation (as well as fumbling in Cloud's oversized drugs cache), I complied. After all, it'd suck if, in order to save the planet, we had to pass up on saving a dog.

After the obligatory green glow, it clambered to its feet (which stuck out ridiculously from its shaggy fur coat), sniffed around Cloud for a few minutes, gave a giddy bark and ran away. Satisfied that we hadn't doomed little Timmy to stay stuck in the well, we clambered back onto Fenrir and made it to Seventh Heaven, but a half-hour's ride from the place where I would recapture my inner ninja, laze about talking to Teef, and generally live a fulfilling life. Or so I thought.

Here's a hint, kids: nothing I do ever works out according to plan.

Anyways, back to the city of Edge. Edge is one of those cities where I just wanna grab the architect and tell them to turn down the _suck_. I mean, the place is just so damn gloomy, even considering there's a bunch of posters of Awesome Ninja Yuffie and her clown crew plastered over the walls. All the houses were drawn with rulers, all the alleyways straight as a board. Hell, one of the great things about Wutai is that, well, we pretty much looked at the rest of the world in their box houses, and we said 'Screw that, let's carve five fat guys into a mountain and worship a sea serpent.' Edge, on the other hand, had no imagination whatsoever, and to top it off, the entire place smells of rain, even when it wasn't raining. All in all, Edge had all the excitement of a blocked toilet.

Of course, the one place Edge had going for it was the Seventh Heaven, a bar famous for being run by the woman who suplexed Emerald Weapon, and AVALANCHE's favourite hang. As we pulled up outside, I noticed Cloud's face lighting up contentedly, which really would have been quite sweet if he hadn't mown down Lassie fifteen minutes ago.

"Tifa? We're home," Cloud called as he walked in, strangely subdued. Oh, wait, did I say 'subdued'? I meant whipped.

After rubbing my aching thighs (how does he sit on that damn hunk of metal all day?) I followed him in, and looked around the place. It was still spotless, still small enough to be cosy but big enough to stage a bar fight. Still didn't have a pinball machine, despite the fact Boobs was always saying she was going to get one. Good to know that even if aliens are taking over the world, Seventh Heaven will still be the same. Well, Seventh Heaven mark II, anyway.

However, instead of being greeted by woman with breasts the size of a small country and a heart to match 'em, we were greeted by a veritable mountain of post-it notes spread over the counter. They were of every size and colour you could ever want, provided that you only ever wanted small and neon pink. Cloud's face visibly fell.

"Let's see," he murmured, and started rifling through them. "Picked up Marlene for school...Going to grocery store...Ah. Here's today's date."

"Hate to intrude, fluffy, but what's the deal?" I asked. I was lying about the first bit, obviously. I love to intrude. It usually leads to shiny things, which usually find themselves in my pockets.

"We don't see each other too often, since I'm always working. We leave post-its to each other when we can't talk before I have to leave," he said distantly, still looking through the ones from today. There was a not inconsiderable amount.

"Aw. Poor Teef," I said, and sniffed in sympathy. Teef was awesome. She didn't need to be alone all day, every day, waiting for Cloud's spiky ass to get home. I mean, get him a leash or something. The guy pretty much smells like wet dog and machine oil anyway, thanks to his stupid leatherwear. I'd stopped smelling it recently, though. Probably because I'd spent so much time on the back of his bike, trying to strike a good balance between throttling him so I didn't fall off, and screaming. I managed about 50-50.

"_Heard Yuffie is to arrive, so have gone out to get a welcome present. It's a pity about our date, but can't be helped. Love you,_" Cloud read in a voice that he probably imagined was under his breath. Bitch, please. I am a ninja. I can hear spiders shivering fifty feet away. Maybe.

He sighed, dropping his shoulders low, and started putting the post-it notes behind the bar. I felt somewhat guilty (sounded like I'd spoiled Cloud's endless quest for tail), but honestly too tired to do anything about it. Long motorbike journeys take it outta ya, especially when you lose five ounces worth of fluid in travel sickness. I sat down in one of Teef's faux wooden chairs; she preferred them, she said. Reminded her of the slums, and how grateful she was for what she had now.

And what did she have? An empty bar and an ever-growing stack of sticky notes. More than I had, admittedly, but wow.

"Yuffie," Cloud said, and his voice sounded strangely out-of-focus. "Were you ever planning on returning my Choco/Mog materia?"

"Long answer: yes with a few conditions. Short answer, hell and no," I answered, and lifted a hand to my brow. I was sweating. Did Teef leave her heating on? I mean, I'm already pretty hot. I didn't need to be warm, too.

"What...Cid teaching...Yuffie?" Cloud asked, and his voice was starting to filter in and out. My eyes were getting heavy. I let them rest for a while. Cloud could wait. It's not like he was the main character or anything.

Then I heard a thud, and realised I'd fallen off my chair. It didn't seem to matter. I saw Cloud start to walk over, and realised that the dog from earlier had peed on his shoes. Serves him right. Jerk.

* * *

I woke up after one of those ridiculously deep sleeps, where you feel like you're at the bottom of a deep pool and you're rising gently to the surface, but your shoes are too heavy so you can't kick your feet to rise faster. But wake up I did, and the first thing I remember was being annoyed at how much of my time I was spending ko'd lately.

"Oh, Yuffie! You're awake!" a very familar and very soft voice said.

I made my very best effort to leap out of bed, grab Tifa and give her a bear hug that Barret would be proud of. Finally, female company! Someone who could actually smile without being all ironic about it! A person who didn't wear fifty gazillion belts and fifteen metric tonnes of leather!

Naturally, my efforts ended with a thump and a taste of the carpet. Teef laughed, scooped me off the floor and back into bed. My legs were not feeling co-operative. That's fine, that's fine. You know, they were ninja legs, and ninja legs don't take lip from nobody, not even their lovable and attractive owner.

"It's so good to see you. We worried," Tifa smiled, and lifted a stray hair off my face. "You look terrible, you know."

"Boy, Teef. Way to make me feel better. Doesn't help that your stupid man-slut thinks I'm a boy," I mock-frowned, before sticking out my tongue. Getting other people into trouble is one of the great joys in life.

"You're so thin, Yuffie. When you're better, I'll treat you to some home cooking," she said, and my heart fluttered. As much as I _love_ the way Captain Cancer turns his bacon into charcoal before he gives it to you, Tifa's home cooking is literally the best thing ever. She could cook Vinnie's leather trousers and they'd melt in your mouth. She's _that_ good.

"Hey, I want home cooking now. What's with all this 'when I'm better' crap?" I grouched.

"Gongaga fever," Cloud deadpanned, opening the door and dropping a tray on the bedside table. "You got lucky. It's a one-day thing, once the incubation period's over."

"Yeah. Lucky. I get to greet the only person I know who's _not_ crazy and _not_ a dog by faceplanting and dribbling all over her carpet."

"Take it. It's a tranquiliser. It'll help you sleep," Cloud said, ignoring me and pointing to the bottle on the trap.

"Oh, _gawd_. Is that your answer to everything, Cloud? 'Oh, Yuffie, aliens are taking over the planet and you're sick as a dog, but it'll be fine if you just _take some drugs_!'"

"I got two solutions to my problems, Yuffie. One's drugs and the other's violence. Punches or potions, take your pick," he smirked. Oh, so as soon as Teef's in the room he thinks he's awesome. I'd give _him_ punches and potions. Later, maybe, when my legs weren't trying to riverdance without my permission.

Tifa stopped us butting heads by breaking out laughing. She's got a really soft laugh. In fact, Teef's just a huge, cuddly, loveable person who just so happens to be able to punch through metal.

"I see you too are getting along better. I bet things are going to get very lively here," she said in between giggles.

'Better'. Now there's a subjective word for ya. Seeing as our previous relationship had pretty much been 'Hey Clod, where'd all your materia go?' and 'Damn you to hell, sexy ninja girl, you have purloined my sparkly balls of magic and secreted them somewhere upon your person, and for that I shall bisect you with my _giant freaking butcher knife_!', sure, it was an improvement, kinda. But now I had to listen to him being emo.

"Whatever," we said at the same time, setting Tifa into another giggle fit. Cloud sighed affectionately before waltzing his bishie ass out of the room where it belonged.

"So, Teef. Got any gossip to cheer up an ailing ninja?" I asked when he'd gone.

"I have gossip, but it's mostly about you," Boobs smiled.

"Oh, _gawd_. Well, I may as well hear it," I groaned.

She put a finger to her temple in mock thought, and I got the distinct feeling I was about to be teased. "Well, Cid tells me that you and Vincent have been getting on," she said, with just the slightest inflection on _getting on_ to inform me that she was leaving out the 'it' that went in the middle.

"Asswipe. He _would_ say that. Actually, Teef, we're not even _speaking_ at the moment, since he decided to ditch me and go play animal husbandry, or whatever creepy b-s Reeve and his stupid beard wants him to do," I spat.

"And you don't miss him? Not even a little?" Tifa asked, with her big brown eyes open wide and searching for signs of lying. I weighed up my options, and decided that if Teef could psychoanalyse her fluffy-haired headcase of a boyfriend, she could probably catch me out.

"Well, maybe a little. Only because Cloud's, like, five times worse. It's nice to have him around, since he doesn't change," I said, more honestly than I'd meant to.

"Is that so? But Vincent's changed a lot since Deepground."

I snorted. On the surface, maybe. But underneath, he was still the same screwed up, dog-breathed lunatic he'd always been, taking responsibility for stuff he didn't have to and getting all angsty when he couldn't. Sure, saving the world had helped him, but it'd take more than that to fix all the stuff he'd gone through.

To save myself from having to answer her, I took a swig of Cloud's tranq and chased it down with some water.

"...I also heard you'd slept with Reeve," she added after a moment.

You know spit takes? How they look so funny in films and all that? Lemme tell ya, folks, that when you involuntarily spit out what you're drinking and it's been laced with tranquillisers and some of it decides to exit at great velocity from your nose, it _freakin'_ stings, and it makes you look like an idiot whilst you sit there dribbling it down your chin. Not pleasant.

"I was sort've hoping you wouldn't have heard about that. I mean, it's not like I'm not into Reeve, what with his weird beard and his lack of fashion sense and him being like ten years older than me, but I was sorta too drunk to remember my name at the time," I said as quickly as I could in between fits of coughing.

"I gathered. I also heard you broke his nose," Tifa carried on, with a straight face that might've belonged to her boyfriend. I bet it's the same face she wears in bed. Gawds knows, Cloud's in love with himself anyways.

"Yeah, I did. So what?"

"It's...impressive," she said, with a snort added in there for flavour. "Consider Reeve conducts business away from the battlefield, you may well the only one ever to actually lay a hand on him."

I didn't miss the double entendre. Thanks, Boobs, for making light of my drunken tryst. You'd never know she spent most of her time around lushes.

"Anyway, you rest up today, and you'll be back on your feet tomorrow. I'll teach you how to tend bar," Teef said with some sort've goofy grin. The sort've goofy grin that says 'well, lookee here. Free labour'. "Oh, and I got you a present. Sort've a coming-home gift."

Out of her pocket (miniskirts with pockets- science, what have you done?) she took out a phone. Oh, man. A _phone_. Voicemail, text messages and Yankee Doodle for a ringtone, baby. I was going up in the world. Or maybe less down, anyway. I seized it eagerly (think I tossed an apology in there somewhere) and began to press the buttons with barely concealed delight. _All_ of the buttons. It was like I was connected to the big, wide world again.

"I thought you'd like it. Well, I'll leave you alone then. Remember, try and rest up," Tifa smiled, and almost skipped from the room. Probably heading straight for Chocobo-Head. I made a note to self: buy earplugs, for sake of sanity.

Fifteen minutes later, the tranq was finally kicking in, and I lolled my head back to look at the ceiling. I hadn't even bothered to look around the bedroom I was in, now that I came to think of it. Didn't matter. It wasn't as though it wasn't secure, what with a sword nut and the karate queen making out downstairs. It was a nice ceiling, though.

As I snoozed, my new cell rested in its cradle. In the outbox, there was one message.

_To: Vincent Valentine  
Re: Your Face  
It sucks.  
Love, Yuffie (new number!)_

_x_

* * *

A/N: And, for the moment, we shall cut there. Next chapter resumes the action proper. For those of you who want an actual excuse for the ridiculous delay, what can I say?I took a break, and then got distracted, and then suddenly it was half a year later. Then, when I started again, I read over my work, and thought to myself, "Wow. Just, wow. Plainly in the creation process, someone, _somewhere_, smoked _something_ pretty damn potent. How on earth did I do this?" So, yeah. I entirely forgot how to write Yuffie's voice in this story. However, after having thought on it (for just about _forever_), I now have a better idea where I want the plot to go, about Yuffie's characterisation (both as a character and as a narrator) and of the medium the story is recreating. (To give new people an idea of how long it's been, I have now worn the space bar on my laptop down enough that it has stopped working reliably.)

TL;DR? The Ballad Of The Gunslinger and The Cat: now 20% more meta. Roll on next chapter! (Hopefully in slightly less time than this one!)


End file.
